


Twelve Thousandth Night

by Englandwouldfall



Series: As you like it [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Communication, Established Relationship, F/M, Family, Fluff, Growing Old Together, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:29:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 73,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Englandwouldfall/pseuds/Englandwouldfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not so much a mid life crisis as the fact that Dean's just realised that he's living vicariously through his children from a combined distance of six hundred miles away, at some point he became boring and suburban and between it all he and Cas have pretty much forgotten how to talk to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Yep. Not seen the last of me yet. Although THIS might be the last instalment (not chronologically but... yes). Hopefully. We'll see. 
> 
> As seems to be the way, we start with angst and then it will be fixed.

“Is something up?” Emma asks, breaking off halfway through their conversation about her work. She’s been gushing about it ever since her promotion from assistant to person-of-actual-responsibility and Dean is _more_ than happy to listen to her talk about it for approximately forever. “You sound kind of… off.” 

“Huh? Oh, right, no,” Dean says, “Everything’s awesome.” 

“Be more convincing, Padre.” 

“Just trying to get used to Claire being gone too,” Dean says, swallowing, because every time he thinks about them both fleeing his little egg nest he gets a jolt of nostalgia mixed with this quasi-grief, which he wasn’t expecting. He figured he would be one of those cool parents who dropped his kid off at college with a salute and a supply of condoms, or whatever. He didn’t figure that driving away would be even more impossible than leaving Sam at college. “Feeling kinda lost.”

“Awh,” Emma says, “You’ll always be our Daddy,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, “Cut the sap.”

“Thought you were looking forward to spending time with Dad?”

“I was,” Dean says, then instantly regrets it because it sounds a lot more bitter than it was supposed to do. He _was_ kind of looking forward to doing couple-things and having sex in the kitchen or in the middle of the day or whatever because there was no one else there to object, but then they haven’t really done any of those things. They got back from the seven hour drive and Dean was just too exhausted and too achey to actively consider sex, then things just kept coming up, till a few weeks have slipped by and they’ve barely had a proper conversation; there’s nothing up right now, though, and they’ve still spent most of the evening in separate rooms not really talking to each other. It’s not exactly how he figured it would be. He was really just trying to talk himself into seeing the good of Claire moving _seven hours away_ with all the couple-talk, but… he definitely didn’t think he and Cas would have completely forgotten how to be a twosome. He didn’t see it coming and it’s completely blind sighted him. 

“Padre,”

“Speaking of,” Dean says, before she can ask about it any further. “You wanna talk to him? I’ve had you to myself for a good twenty minutes, and he’s missing you too.”

“Sure,”

“He’s just downstairs,” Dean says, pulling himself out of bed and heading downstairs. He pauses when he gets to their front room, where Cas has his laptop open on the dining table under the guise of ‘work’. Dean’s not entirely sure that smiling as his cell like it’s something particularly amusing counts as work, unless Uriel has started sending round more of those ‘funny’ emails about things Dean doesn’t understand and Dean’s very much not getting Uriel vibes from the whole thing. There’s something soft about his expression that Dean doesn’t like. “Who you texting?”

“Meg,” Cas says, not looking up from his phone. It bleeps again. 

“Still hitting on you on our twentieth wedding anniversary Meg?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. Castiel definitely looks up at him at that, his small smile evaporating. It’s not that Dean has a problem with Cas keeping in touch with Meg, because he doesn’t. He barely even dislikes Meg anymore. What he dislikes is the fact that Meg is moral-less, scheming bitch with an eternal soft spot for Cas which, again, isn’t necessarily a problem (unless he has to spend prolonged periods of time with the woman, which he doesn’t), except for the fact that Cas _knows that too_ and that Cas, right now, is clearly using those titbits of information to make him feel good about himself. That he can encourage Meg’s flirting enough to put that stupid goddamn smile on his face without stepping far enough over the line that he has to feel guilty about it, whilst Dean’s upstairs feeling shitty about everything because he misses their kids so much that it’s virtually incapacitating him. It’s just _bullshit_ , actually, and it’s the exact opposite of what Dean needs right now.

“You’re bothered by this,” Cas says, in a tone of voice that just radiates the fact that Dean’s being unreasonable, which Dean’s pretty sure he’s actually not.

“You know what, yeah Cas. I am.”

“Dean, we’ve been together for over thirty years.”

“Since fucking when did that become your get out of jail free card?” Dean demands and, huh, he’s actually angry. He didn’t know he had enough emotions in him to get angry. “That’s not a free pass to act like an asshole.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Well, tough luck, Castiel. We’ve been shacked up for over thirty years so I can do whatever the fuck I like and you don’t get to call me out on it, apparently.”

“Dean, who is on the phone?” Cas asks, eyes dropping to where his cell’s still in his left hand and, goddamnit, Emma is still on the line and probably heard the whole damn thing. They’ve argued in front of Emma and Claire a handful of times, which is actually pretty remarkable considering how often they butt heads about the stupid crap that neither of them really care about. They bicker in front them plenty, but that’s different. No one’s yelling (Dean). No one’s acting irrational (Dean, maybe). No one’s bleeding emotions all over the place (Dean) to a stoic brick wall (Cas). 

Cas stands up and reads the name off his phone when Dean doesn’t answer.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t act like an assbutt in front of our children,” Cas says, tense and angry and in his face, and then he’s pushing past him to the kitchen. 

“You wanna talk to your daughter or not?”

Cas slams the kitchen door in his face. Son of a bitch.

“Emma,” Dean breathes, after he’s had a few seconds to calm down and remember that his hyper-sensitive daughter is on the phone and just heard that whole fucking mess. “Hey, so, that was…”

“Did Dad just call you an assbutt?”

“He does that,” Dean exhales, because Emma doesn’t sound upset, or even particularly perturbed. He does have a tendency to forget that Emma is an actual adult, rather than the teary seven year old she once was. She can handle a lot of things she couldn’t handle even a couple of years back. Moving to college and then dropping out and starting out Emma’s-way was good for her.

“So,” Emma says, “Your renewed alone time isn’t going so well.”

“Could say that,” Dean says, swallowing, “We just gotta remember how to be just us again.”

“Well it sounds like you’re doing a good job,” Emma says, “From the sitting on different floors of the house to the yelling at each other.”

“Em, come on,” Dean says, “Give your old man a break.”

“Fine,” Emma says, voice softening, “I’ll just call Dad on his cell later.”

“Sorry you heard all of that,” Dean mutters, pressing a thumb into his forehead and heading back up the stairs. “We don’t…. I mean,”

“It’s okay, Padre, I’m not a kid,” Emma says which Dean fully disagrees with, even if the laws of the land state otherwise. “You okay?”

“Yeah, think I’m just gonna head back to bed.” Dean says. He’s not about to start offloading all his relationship problems on their daughter. He knows enough people who were screwed up by that kind of thing to know it’s a no-go area, even if they got it when they were kids rather than adults. Maybe he and Emma are friends now as well as father-and-daughter, but that doesn’t mean she should be dealing with his problems. Emma deserves a helluva lot better than listening to Dean whining over pretty much nothing.

“You were in bed when I called you?” Emma asks, her voice changing slightly and, oh yeah, that he shouldn’t have let slip. That’s not a good for his general protocol of keeping Dean’s problems out of Emma’s line of sight and, goddamnit, Emma knows him well enough to know exactly what that means. Fuck. 

“I was tired.” Dean says, his throat mangling the words slightly. “Talk to you soon, Princess.”

“Padre,” Emma says, but his ‘I don’t want to talk about this’ is implicit. Emma usually hears the six thousand things he’s not saying in any given sentence. “I’ll call later this week, okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, crawling back into their double as Emma hangs up on him, his argument with Cas simmering under his skin. He probably shouldn’t have yelled, but he’s not talking crazy. He’s not unreasonable. It’s not a big deal, it’s just that Cas should know why it was a dick-move to pull, and Cas should _listen_ to him.

And Cas should probably know that Dean’s _not doing very well_ and could probably use some extra support rather than throwing over their usual TV night to do work, and then not even do that. Cas shouldn’t be sat downstairs texting frigging _Meg_ when Dean’s spent most of the evening hiding in bed. And Dean’s not entirely sure how any of this happened, either, because somehow it’s not even a _surprise_ and that scares the holy hell out of him.

*

He gets out of bed and flips open his laptop at their desk near when he thinks Cas will probably come to bed, because Cas is mad at him for a fairly good reason (they do not yell at each other in front of their kids) and if Cas wants to keep on being pissed about that, Dean's not about to make it more difficult for him by letting slip that he's not okay. He isn't. He knows that. He's been feeling crappy for months but was putting on a show before Claire left, because he didn't want it to affect her big move, or her excitement about college. So he shamed his way through summer and the drive to Denver, except since he just quit fighting, and he's definitely stopped winning. He was feeling redundant and kind of shitty anyway, because the last twenty years have all been about Emma and Claire, and now they don't need him anymore.

Cas doesn't need him either; he's got his job and his friends and his brothers and Claire and Emma, so Dean's just feeling pretty useless. Purposeless. This time was supposed to all be about reconnecting with Cas and all that crap, but Dean can barely remember being less connected with the guy. He's hiding upstairs pretending to shoot off work emails because he doesn't want to talk about the fact that he feels like he's been gutted all over again only _this time_ Dean’s letting himself sink into it rather than fighting it and Cas _hasn’t even noticed_. He should be taking his meds but he can't remember when they became a permanent solution and he cancelled his last three psych appointments because he's a grown ass man with everything he could ever have wanted and he should just be fucking happy, rather than this worthless dude who can't even keep his head straight when he has the best damn husband and the best kids in the whole world. He even likes his job. He fucking loves his car. He loves their house, even if it's too big with just the two of them rattling around. He doesn't need to go to fucking therapy to know that he needs to stop wallowing in his self-created misery and start appreciating how good he's got it.

"Hello Dean," Cas says. He doesn't particularly look angry at Dean's paranoid bastard routine or the yelling at him in front of Emma, but Cas can be pretty stoic at times. His feelings aren't always readable straight off.

"Hey," Dean says, turning to glance at him. Cas got better with age. Sure, at eighteen he was both hot and cute from different angles on different days, but in his thirties he got freaking beautiful and now he's nothing short of breath-taking, even with his hair stuck up at odd angles and the lopsided tie. He has laughter lines. Dean's pretty sure he's going grey, even if Cas full on denies it. "I'm coming to bed in a sec, just finishing this email."

Cas does that thing where he stands much too close behind him and hovers, which means Dean actually has to answer an email or have Cas call bullshit on this whole rouse. He opens one up from line manager about a report that Dean definitely hasn't done, then stalls because, well, he hasn't done it and doesn't have a good excuse to why he hasn't either. Other than 'I feel like crap and I miss my daughter' which doesn't generally fly in the adult world. 

Cas leans over him to reach for the top drawer of the desk, then pulls out his canister of anti-depressants. He's screwed because they're dated and the damn thing is essentially full, but Cas isn't his fucking minder so whatever. It's his choice. His mental bullshit. He's expecting Cas to pull some passive aggressive shit and shake it in his face or read the taking instructions, but he just frowns and puts it down on the desk. 

"Emma says I am being insensitive." 

Dean snorts at that, because Dean's usually the one who gets the label from everyone but Emma, who's always just seemed to get him since she found him hiding from everyone at his fortieth birthday party to look at photos of his Mom and Dad. Emma is over sensitive and always has been, from being plucked out of that weird abusive cult to heading off to college and dropping out to help disadvantaged kids. The fact that Emma noticed there’s something up with him from a different part of the state from one frigging phone call and had to point it out to Cas isn’t reassuring. Not that Dean’s testing him because… he wouldn’t _do_ that, it’s just his messed up head’s been using it as another thing to beat himself up over.

Dean’s chest hurts, but he reaches forward and tips one of his pills onto his hand anyway. He's supposed to take two but it's been weeks, so his tolerance has probably dropped again.

"Forgot she was on the phone," Dean says, reaching for his beer to take the damn thing with. He swallows it. It's not going to fucking help but, there, he took his damn pills. Cas didn't even have to say anything. 

"I know, Dean," Cas says, then he reaches forward and his hands are resting on Dean's shoulders. 

"You look good today, man," Dean says, leaning back into the touch and staring at the email from his boss. He's too tired to deal with it. He's just exhausted. He doesn't want to fight with Cas or talk about this with Cas or do anything that isn't crawl back into the sanctuary of his bed and act like none of this is happening. Damnit. 

"Thank you," Cas says, then Dean gets him tracing the line of shoulders one last time before he backs off and heads for their wardrobe and his pyjamas. "Meg was asking for advice about what to buy her step daughter."

"Thought they got divorced." 

"They temporarily separated," Castiel says, "Dean, it was a perfectly innocent conversation."

"Never said it wasn't," Dean says, "Just saying you were enjoying it a hell of a lot." Cas frowns at him like he's talking a different language. 

"Dude, if you're getting stuff you need from me from someone else you're still crossing a line."

"Need from you," Cas repeats, "There's nothing I _need_ from you."

"Well you know what, Cas, maybe that's half the problem."

"I just _need you._ And no, Dean, I do not currently feel like I am currently getting that. However given it took our daughter asking me whether you were taking your medication for me to realise that you're struggling, it seems you haven't been getting me either."

Dean grimaces at the thought of Emma picking up on Dean’s crap, because that’s not her job. Cas is more liberal about talking to them both about his personal problems (which usually means Cas-and-Dean’s problems) if they ask questions about it. Cas-honesty is brutal and has occasionally caused upset, but he’s pretty sure that they both find it less frustrating than Dean’s tight-lipped routine because they figure they’re being treated like adults. Dean’s working on it.

“I miss them too, Dean,” Cas sighs, stripping off his shirt.

“I know,” Dean says, then skulks off to the bathroom to shower and put Cas’ stuff with the rest of the laundry. By the time he comes back, Cas is in bed. He’s awake and probably expecting them to talk about their feelings a bit more, but Dean mutters a ‘g’night’, gets in bed facing the wrong way and turns the light off.

*

Cas hangs around long enough the next morning that Dean actually see's him over breakfast, which is rare. Generally, they’ve been working on an overlap system for the past few years where Cas usually see’s Claire and Claire see’s Dean and they never really readjusted after Claire moved out. It didn’t _used_ to be lonely, but Dean’s gotta say if he wasn’t battling the permanent exhaustion that comes with his low mood, setting his alarm a little earlier to actually see someone in the morning would probably make his day a lot better. The guy passes him over a cup of coffee, looking part sheepish part defiant, and then says "Are you going to work today?"

"Have or have I not been going to work every day for the past fifteen years?"

"Dean,"

"Just because you just caught up don't mean you know what's going on in my head. Yes, I'm going to work." Dean says, frowning into his cup of coffee. Cas is already dressed and has virtually finished his coffee, so he’s really only hanging around to check in with Dean, which means Dean’s definitely being a dick. It probably wouldn’t kill him to be a little nicer, but he’s still kinda pissed, his brain hurts, he really _really_ wants to go back to bed and their house feels so fucking empty.

"I'm trying,"

"Makes a change,"

"There's no point talking to you right now,"

"Fine," Dean says, "Have a good day, Cas." 

"Take your medication," Cas says, which Dean’s entirely sure Cas says just to piss him off, because Dean’s absolutely no more likely to take his medication now Cas’ made some dumb passive aggressive comment about it.

“You’re an asshole,” Dean comments. Cas doesn’t rise to the bait. He just frowns at him then heads to pick up his coat. Cas sticks his head back round the door to offer him a clipped ‘goodbye, Dean’ before he’s gone and, yeah, Dean is _so_ glad that Cas delayed going to work so they could have some good old quality time together.

*

"I'm gonna be late back," Dean says, walking to the impala with the keys out, cell phone wedged under his ear. “My shrink’s avoiding their other half so they said they could fit me in tonight."

He doesn’t want to go, just like he hasn’t wanted to for the past few weeks, but now _Emma_ knows his head’s in the crapper he can’t live with the guilt of not doing anything about it. She’ll ask him about it, even if Cas has been a little slack in that department lately. Anyway, he doesn’t want Cas suddenly paying attention to whatever the fuck is going on with them _just because_ Dean’s in another of his ruts. He wants Cas to _want_ to pay attention just because he _wants to_ not out of some shitty obligations to Dean’s mental wellbeing. Fuck that.

"I can't tell if you're talking about your actual therapist or Benny,” Cas says. Dean knows the guy well enough to know that Dean’s got about forty percent of his attention and the rest of it’s probably still directed at work emails, or something, which is fine. The guy at least picked up his cell whilst at work, which is something. Dean can deal.

"Ha ha," Dean says, “Actual therapist. Benny's second divorce came through, remember?”

"Yes. How late?" 

"Hour later than you, maybe," Dean says, opening the impala and throwing open the door. “Gonna do the grocery shop whilst I’m out. You want anything?”

“Wine,”

“Awesome,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Text me if you think of anything else. Who’s cooking?”

“I could cook,” Cas says, although he doesn’t sound very convinced by his own offer. Cas _does_ cook, just not all that often. In recent years, Emma and Claire have been stepping up and cooking at least once a week, but… now it’s just them again. The rebalancing act is taking some getting used to. “What food do we have in?”

“Uh, pork, bacon, cheese, some green crap… beer,” Dean says, “Potatoes. Could defrost some mince.”

“I’ll think of something,” Cas says.

“Okay, well,” Dean says, shoulders squaring up, “See you later, man.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, then they have a few seconds of awkward silence in which neither of them fill which _fucking how?_ They’ve been together for most of their lives. Married for decades. They’ve never run out of things to talk about before. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean tells the car after Cas has already hung up on him, pocketing his phone and staring out the front window without really seeing it for a few long seconds. “Awesome.”

*

Dean gets back later than expected, just because he wound up dawdling in the vegetable aisle because he was too busy living in his own head to think much about actually shopping. That and it was a Friday night so the traffic was hellish and the store was _far_ to full for Dean’s liking. He’d have figured that other people had better things to do on a Friday night than buy some damn food, but apparently he’s not the only one who’s become middle aged and boring. He wasn’t even the person who looked most miserable about it, which didn’t comfort him much.

Cas is stretched out on the sofa already eating, which is a bit of a blow, because the last thing Dean feels like doing right now is eating alone. He’s lost his tie and untucked his shirt, which is basically Cas’ equivalent of longue wear at this point.

“I was hungry,” Cas says by way of explanation, “Do you want me to help with the groceries?”

“Nah,” Dean says, “Might as well finish eating. Smells good.”

“Risotto,” Cas says, turning to glance at him, “Ish.”

“Heh,” Dean says, “Risotto-ish. My favourite.”

By the time he’s finished putting the groceries away, Cas has finished eating and is depositing his bowl in the dish washer. It’s probably Dean’s fault for being home later than he said, but it still sucks that Cas just wanders back out of the room whilst Dean’s headed to the microwave. Damnit. Dean really thought they might actually _talk_ tonight, between the fact that Cas got halfway up to speed last night and because he’s used to Cas being ultra-sensitive to him after therapy. Instead, Dean’s got a continuation of Cas’ cold-fish routine, which has always been his least favourite of Cas’ modes. He usually only gets treated to it when he’s done something particularly anger-worthy, though, and then Cas is super polite and aloof up until the point where he’s ready to scream at him for whatever it is; it’s not great, then, but at least Dean can kind of see where’s coming from. Right now, it’s just… apathy. Dean didn’t know that could hurt so damn much.

“Cas,” Dean says, pausing in the doorway of their lounge with his bowl of sort-of-risotto in his right hand.

“Yes?” Cas asks, without looking away from the TV. And, frankly, if the guy is _so_ unengaged with this fucking conversation, Dean’s not going to work for it. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long few _weeks_ , actually, and Dean doesn’t think he’s being unreasonable wanting a little bit more.

“Good show?”

“It’s intriguing,” Cas says, still not looking at him.

“Right,” Dean says and heads back to the table to eat. Claire has text him about something college related and Dean spends the rest of his solo meal time reading over the last few days’ worth of conversations with Claire and reassuring himself that she is _fine_. She’s just in the next state over. She’s doing college things like every other teenager her age does. She seems like she’s settling in fine. She’s probably making all sorts of decisions that she’s not going to tell Dean or Cas about until, like, a year later when they can all laugh about it, but it’s a whatever. She’s doing good. She’s bad ass and strong and intelligent and hilarious and she will be fine.

He’s about to slink off upstairs like he has for the past couple of evenings, but he’s got the conversation with his therapist buzzing round in his brain and… well, she’s not wrong. She isn’t usually wrong, but that doesn’t mean Dean didn’t immediately cast her dumb suggestion aside just because. He’s thinking about it now. He’s thinking about it now because he and Cas have exchanged, like, eight sentences today and almost _all_ of them have been about dumb, practical shit that they had to talk about.

Dean talks himself into walking back into their longue, picks up the TV remote and hits _mute_. Cas turns around, expression crumpled into confusion but, hey, at least Cas is actually looking at him now. Feels like the first time in forever, even if that’s definitely not true. It’s not. It just _feels_ like it.

“Can we talk?”

“How was therapy?” Cas asks, the curve of his lips poised into actual interest. Huh. 

“Alright,” Dean says, perching on the arm of the other sofa and looking at him, “So, she was kinda surprised I’ve been flaking out on therapy and my meds. I’ve pretty much never done that with her before. So we talked about that,” Dean says, “I figured it was just worse than normal but…well, Tina reckons its cause… well.”

“Dean,”

“Because Emma and Claire are off living their lives and, right now, we suck,” Dean says, which gets Cas’ frown deepening, “I’m not trying to start a debate, Cas, it’s just true. _This_ is crap. So, this crappy depression is the same as ever, except instead of taking it in my stride, I’m letting it win.”

“And,”

“And she reckons I was doing the wrong kind of therapy to get me back on the straight and narrow,” Dean says, voice forcefully light. Cas frowns even more. “ _Couples_ therapy,”

“What?”

“I know, man,” Dean says, “It sounds fucking awful and, come on, it’s _us_. We’re solid. I just… I don’t know what’s happening to us right now.”

“Dean, if this is about _Meg_ -”

“For fuck’s sake, Cas, it’s not _about Meg_ ,” Dean says, closing his eyes for a second, “I feel like we’ve never been on such different pages and I _hate it_.”

“But you are still irritated about Meg,”

“Wow,” Dean says, standing up, because if Cas _still_ isn’t listening then there’s no fucking point having the damn conversation. He unmutes the TV then throws the stupid remote control at the sofa then walks out because _fuck_. Goddamnit, he’s pissed. He’s beyond pissed. He’s out and out mad.

“Dean,” Cas says, following him into the kitchen.

“What?” Dean snaps, turning back around to glare at him, “Yes, actually, Cas. I’m frigging _furious_ that you blew off family night to ignore me and text Meg. I’m also _pissed_ that this is the second night this week we’ve eaten alone. I’m _beyond irritated_ that you’re more interested in your dumb TV show than asking about therapy. I am _angry_ that it’s Friday night, it’s just us and we haven’t even talked about hanging out. And I’m mad as hell that I’m the only one in this house who seems to give a shit about any of that. Satisfied that you've proved your point now?”

“Do you want to do it?” Cas asks, calm enough that it derails Dean’s anger at source, then he’s just tried and frustrated and more than a little bit miserable. Dean is _tired_. He feels like Cas doesn’t care, even if he knows that’s not true on a logical level, he certainly feels like it.

“No,” Dean says, “I don’t, but I also didn’t want to tell my damn therapist that the last time we went on a date was months ago, that I don’t remember the last time you kissed me just cause and that I’m beginning to think the only damn thing we talk about is our kids.”

Cas surges forward to kiss him. Dean sort of hates how much it makes everything feel better, when it’s possibly the most contrived and insincere lead up to a kiss ever. Still, he gets Cas bumping their noses together and kissing his bottom lip and it’s completely lovely. He forgets how much Cas helps. God help him, but he forgets.

“You know that doesn’t fix anything, right?” Dean asks, as Cas pulls away but stays close enough that they’re essentially sharing breath. It does help, it’s just… it sure as shit _feels_ like Cas is only hanging around in his personal space because he’s worked out that Dean’s upset and angry and frustrated and he’s trying to placate him. Dean’s pretty sure that’s how relationships work, but right now it feels like Cas is just manipulating him to get him off his back. Or not manipulating but just… doing what the fuck ever shut Dean up so he can go back to his intriguing TV show.

“I’m aware, Dean,” Cas says but, hey, at least now he’s actually got the guy’s full attention. “I know we’re having… adjustment issues,”

“Adjustment issues,” Dean says, shaking his head, resting his head against Cas’ shoulder, even though he’s so damn frustrated about the fact that it helps so much. “Cas, this is a hot mess.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,”

“I’m talking about how I feel Cas,” Dean says, slipping over into snapping again, taking a step back, “You don’t agree, fine, but don’t _belittle_ me.”

“Dean, what do you want me to do?” Cas asks, stood there in the kitchen, arms hanging by his sides, staring at him. Dean thinks what he _wants_ Cas to do is step into his personal space, get mad, yell at him for being irrational, kiss him like he couldn’t help himself, text him all goddamn day about menial shit that isn’t just the chores and who’s cooking food, be _excited_ for Dean getting home from work, give him something a little more than this lukewarm bullshit. He wants Cas to _want_ to do something about this. He wants Cas to sit up and pay some attention to what’s going on with them. It’s not like Dean’s been doing any of those things, either, they’ve just slipped into this weird reality where they’re civil and talk about the kids and watch crap TV together and that’s it.

He’s not sure if it happened before Claire went to college and they just didn’t notice it, but he sure as hell knows that he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t _like_ that their whole damn marriage has become habit, that slipped into this massive mess when Claire left and upturned their whole routine. He doesn’t like the fact that Cas hasn’t even seem to notice, or maybe he just doesn’t frigging care.

“I want you to work that out yourself,” Dean snaps, then he heads upstairs to mope, feel sorry for himself and probably message Claire about whether she has any plans for the weekend. She probably does, because Dean’s pretty damn sure that his kids have more of life than he does at this point.


	2. Chapter 2

They're screwing two days after talking about fucking couples therapy when Dean suddenly realises that he doesn't want to be. It's been well over thirty years and that's never once happened before, so it throws him for a few seconds before he remembers one of the solemn chats they had after Dean started therapy when Cas had explicitly laid out the fact that if Dean ever misread his own screwed up head and gave a green light it turned out he didn't mean, to say so immediately, at any time, at any point, whatever they were doing. It was kind of a given, anyway, and at the time Dean had more or less shrugged the conversation off feeling vaguely frustrated and a little patronised. Castiel was the damn king of consent. He could write books on. Lecture on it. Dean damn well knew he could call time whenever he felt necessary and that would be that, so why the hell was Cas frigging telling him?

Now, though, Dean's glad they talked about this, because it means even when they’re the, like, definition of in the middle of the act when their relationships been shitty for a month or two, he's got that reference point to check himself against, and he can mumble out a “hold fire, Cas” (which, actually is a poorer word choice than he figured, but hey, he’d been distracted) without having a mental breakdown about it. 

Cas is manoeuvring himself off him before Dean can formulate how he's feeling into an actual sentence. It’s ungraceful, awkward and frankly, awful, but it’s probably a lot better than how crappy he’d feel if he hadn’t called time.

"Dean?" Cas questions, voice still rough with arousal, but with a layer of forced composer on top. He can kind of sympathise. Dean's still there physically, just not emotionally or whatever other else layers there are when you're having sex with your husband for the ten thousanth time.

"I don't want..." Dean begins, trailing off when he sees Cas' face. "Don't freak, I just changed my mind. You haven't done anything wrong." 

Cas' shoulders relax slightly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just… give me a second to think,” Dean says, “I need to get my words straight.”

“Dean, if I…”

“Cas, you didn’t,” Dean interrupts, sitting up and swallowing a breath of air. “You’re all good. Except, I kind of feel that, right there, you didn't wanna have sex with me, you just wanted to have sex."

“You weren't getting pleasure from it?” Cas asks and, shit, he doesn’t know how Cas can discuss sex so damn clinically when they’re both butt naked and kind of a mess. And turned on. Goddamnit. Dean’s a fucking idiot, even if he’s a very _honest_ idiot right now.

“Cas, you can rev me up from zero to sixty in three seconds and you once made me come with _a finger_ that ain't the problem. Just, feel like this is just about getting us off, not about us. And I ain’t down with that.”

Cas frowns at him. 

“What do you mean?”

“I feel like the reason you're having sex is because you want to have sex, not because you want to have sex _with me_. I feel like you're kind of horny and I'm there, not like you saw me and thought, damn, my husband is smoking and I wanna piece of that. Then I got in my head and I just… our sex life is too fucking precious for that.” Cas just looks at him. “You don’t have to agree with me. Our communication is a pile of shit right now, anyway. Just. That’s how _I_ feel.”

Cas nods, shifts so that he’s not so obviously naked, then is completely still for a few long seconds.

“Did you have a good time with your brother yesterday?”

“That’s it?” Dean asks, “You’re changing the topic.”

“You _said_ I didn’t have to agree, Dean.”

“There’s a big frigging difference between not agreeing and not acknowledging it at all,”

“You feel disconnected,” Cas says, looking at him with his stupid blue eyes, but it’s just… Dean still feels like the guy is barely seeing him, and it sucks. It has Dean feeling like crap. It at least affirms that he made the right call in calling time because… because, no, he’s not compromising on any damn aspect of their relationship. “I understand and appreciate that,”

“But you’d rather change the damn subject and talk about _Sam_ than work on it?”

“Work on it,” Cas repeats, “Work on it _how_?”

“Man, I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck's going on in you head, let alone how to fix it.”

“Perhaps the person in the room providing problems should also provide the solutions.”

“Okay, you know what,” Dean says, “I was an asshole on Friday, fair enough, but I am not making this up, Cas. Right now, I feel like you don’t give a shit.”

“I _care_ Dean,” Cas says, “Emphatically. I am sorry if you don’t feel I do, but I thought I had made that very clear over the past thirty three years.”

“Even _that_ ,” Dean snaps, “You know, you used to say that like it was a good thing. Like, you were proud of us. Right now it sounds like you’re talking about a damn life sentence.”

“Have you considered that you’re _projecting_ on me?”

“Oh fuck you, Castiel,” Dean says, “Or better yet, fuck off and come back when you’ve dealt with your crap.”

“Fine,” Cas says, eyes flashing, then he’s up and heading for the door and _goddamn_ this is not how Dean wanted to finish the weekend. Now, the whole stupid frigging weekend is framed with various arguments with Cas and he has to deal with the whole week before they get some solid time to hash this out. “To be clear,” Cas says, pausing at the doorway to glare at him, “I am not storming off because you retracted your consent. I’m storming off because you’re an imbecile.”

“Noted,” Dean snaps back, just as Cas slams the door behind him. Fucking _perfect_.

He spends the next twenty minutes staring at the ceiling not thinking anything at all, because he hasn't got a damn clue where his head's supposed to be at. He’s halfway to following Cas out the room to argue some more, just because he has this vague idea that it’ll make him feel better in the short term.

He gets cut off by when the tablet Claire forced purchased for him (“these literally became a thing when you were in your twenties. How can you be _that_ behind?”) starts ringing. He's up and snatching it off the bedside table before he's twigged that it's Emma and he's frigging naked, but he at least remembers not to answer the thing. Then his cell phone rings from the pocket of his jeans. Retrieving both from the floor reveals that it’s _Claire_.

"What's up, Padre?"

"Claire bear," Dean grins, "Damnit, I've missed you."

"I've got Emma on a video call," 

"Hello," Emma call, distantly. Probably from the speakers of Claire's laptop.

"We need you and Dad,"

"I gotta put some clothes on. Two minutes."

" _Really_?” Claire asks, and Dean can practically hear her eye roll, which is aces. She’s only been at college for, like, two months and she hasn’t called much. That’s probably a good thing, because it means she’s concentrating on settling in and isn’t too homesick (Emma called them every single night after she moved out, which they _knew_ was a bad sign), but has still sucked on his end. She’s been texting them, sure, but it’s not the same as hearing her voice.

"Hey, you don't own me," Dean says, grabbing a shirt, his jeans and the tablet and calling down the stairs. "Hey, Cas, you decent? The young ones are checking in."

"What?" Cas asks.

"I'm bringing you some clothes," Dean says, just in case, then heads for the stairs.

"Gross, gross and gross," Claire says.

"Shirt," Dean says, pausing in the door of Cas' office where he's sulking, whilst Dean’s half way through pulling on his own. He gets it done up before he gets to the kitchen, then props the tablet up on against the wooden fruit bowl (Christmas present from Micheal that Dean hasn't manage to talk Cas into trashing yet). 

"Okay, I'm decent. Call again."

"And the six thousandth family meeting of the Winchester Novak is adjourned," Claire grins, coming into view and hey she's still alive. She looks good too. Emma waves from the other side of the screen and Dean feels half the tension draining out his shoulders all at once.

"Dad's not here yet,"

"Hello Claire, hello Emma," Cas says, sitting down next to him, closer than he probably would be if Emma and Claire weren’t calling them.

His shirt’s done up so lopsided there was barely a point to it, which has Dean leering at him even though they're whole relationships a damn mess, not least because Emma already knows far too much about how much they’re dealing with Claire being gone and he wants them to seem normal.

“Haven’t you got it out your systems yet?” Claire asks, making a face.

“That’s not how systems work, Sweetheart,” Dean grins and it’s so frigging easy, too. Cas is smiling too. The proper, nice smile that always makes Dean feel like a goddamn superhero every time he wins one. 

“Sure it is,” Claire says, “Everyone over the age of thirty systematically loses the desire to have sex. It’s an evolutionary strategy to stop their children _bleaching their eyes_ and ripping their ears off when their decrepit parents start talking about _lovemaking _,”__

“To be fair,” Emma says, “I don’t think either of them have ever used the word ‘lovemaking’.”

“I’m still stuck on decrepit,” Dean says, “Missed you too, Claire.”

“Always, Padre,” Claire grins, “Even if you’re still gross.”

“Take it as positive affirmation that they still have a healthy relationship,” Emma says, “Well, sex life, at least.”

“Since when was that questioned?" Claire says, "Second, since when have you been all gung-ho talking about _sex_?"

"I'm seconding the second point," Dean adds, because Emma's always been a little more tight lipped about this kind of thing. Cas has tried preaching his brand of sex-positivity and openness plenty of times, but Emma is strangely conservative for a girl who has them for parents. 

Emma doesn’t as much blush as involuntarily look at her hands, which is enough for Claire to pounce on.

"Spill."

"I'm seeing someone."

"Someone, huh? What kind of pronouns should I be using?"

"He," Claire and Cas say in unison, which has Dean raising his eyebrows.

"Come on, Emma's the straightest person I know."

"I raise you Sam Winchester.”

"You don't get those secretly wanting to hook up vibes from him and Gabe?"

"And now I need to _throw up_." Dean says, "This guy nice, Emma?"

"Yes," Emma says, "he's nice." 

"How illuminating," Claire says, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Em. He got a name? An occupation? Some kind of personality?"

"He's called Jake and he's a teacher,"

"Sounds like a bag of dicks,"

"Padre,"

"I'm kidding," Dean grins, "Okay, Jake the teacher. Awesome."

"I want you to meet him," 

"Woah," Claire says, "I know you're not a dating pro, Emma, but that stage tends to be at _least_ a few weeks after the bit where you tell your sister you're in a frigging relationship. How long have you been sitting on this?"

"Well, you were moving to college."

"Unbelievable."

"You want us to _meet him_?" 

"This weekend,"

"This weekend?" Dean asks, gaping at her like the imbecile he apparently is.

"What your father is trying to say," Cas says, lips titled upwards, "Is that would be lovely and he's going to cook."

"Hey, what about me?" Claire asks. "You know, your youngest daughter who just skipped states."

"Guessing you’re not able to come?"

"I wasn't going to drive back until Thanksgiving. I feel like if I come home now I won't want to go back."

"Claire,"

"No, it's all good. I'm having a good time. I just miss my friends and you guys. I mean, who knew I'd miss watching you two flirt over the grocery list. It's dumb. And just... we were talking about all our parents and, basically, you're the best family ever. So yeah."

"Damnit, don't make me drive up there to give you a hug."

"For all your 'no chick flick' crap you're such a sap, Padre." 

"So sue me," Dean says.

"Sorry I missed family night. Trying to make friends and stuff."

"We understand. It was Halloween. I understand celebrating Halloween tends to be a college requirement," Cas says.

“One year, I was _so_ close to talking Cas into going in drag,”

"How are your classes?"

"More important, how are the parties?"

"Classes –feel like we’ve barely started. I've got so many module outlines and this massive list of assignment deadlines and that's about it. Parties - okay. People are so dumb about sex and it's driving me crazy. My roommate’s on this mission to prove someone who called her frigid when she was twelve wrong, or something. It’s exhausting.”

“You seeing anyone?”

“You mean, am I going to fall in love with my roommate and marry them in ten years’ time? No, Padre, that doesn’t happen to people that aren’t you.”

“Twenty percent of people say they met their spouse at college,” Cas pipes up with, “Although I don’t know the statistics for how many of those were roommates first.”

“Pretty sure it’s just you,” Claire grins, “But, hey, it’s a good story.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “It’s a very good story.”

“What’s new back in Lawrence?”

“Is anything ever new in Lawrence?” Dean asks, “It’s pretty quiet. Sam’s started dating again, but he’s freaking out that Mary and Robbie aren’t okay with it.”

“Mary isn’t,” Claire says, “But she’s kind of at that point where she hates everything, but especially her ‘shallow pig of a brother’. Sam’s way down on the hit list.”

“Damn,” Dean says.

“She’ll be okay,” Claire says. “I talked to her. She gets it’s not an insult to Jess logically, she’s just not emotionally there yet.”

“I’m going to take her out for lunch when I’m up around next weekend,” Emma puts in.

“Tag team,” Claire says, smiling, “Go team Winchester-Novak.”

“Thank you for talking to her, Claire,” Cas says, “And you, Emma. I know Sam appreciates your support.”

“How did you two turn out some damn awesome, anyway?” Dean asks.

“No idea,” Claire grins, “Reckon I just spawned this kick ass. Or Emma must have rubbed off on me.”

“Careful, you were almost nice to me there,” Emma says.

“Hey,” Claire says, “I’m _nice_.”

The conversation sprawls on for another thirty minutes, during in which Cas gets progressively less quiet and shifts progressively closer to him, till they’re occupying the personal space levels they usual do around each other. Claire likes college and Dean’s not getting any of the anxious vibes he got off Emma during the first few months before she dropped out, which is good. She’s name dropped a few friends. She prattled on about a couple of her lecturers she likes. She’s got a part time job which causes a bit of debate, because Dean would rather she wasn’t working were Cas thinks it okay as long as keeps her hours down, whilst Claire says it’s none of their damn business and she can do whatever the hell she wants; Emma’s the neutral party and thinks it isn’t worth the debate because Claire’s going to do what Claire wants to do, which is probably true.

In the end, Claire hangs up first, probably by Emma’s design. Claire’s the one who’s whip-smart and academic without ever seeming to open a frigging book (like college-Castiel, only lazier), but Emma’s people smart. Not that he’s thought about it _that_ much, but he reckons, as a team, they could take down most governments and strategise the fuck out of everything. 

“You got your argument sorted?” Emma asks, raising her eyebrows at both of them. Dean’s ninety percent sure that Emma has told him off _way_ more than he’s ever told her off, but whatever. He’s mostly just proud of the fact that she’s jumped from a little kid who was so insecure that any negative vibes in a room got her thinking she was about to be chucked out and rejected to this wonderful, adult _woman_ who feels entitled enough to give him regular lectures on his life choices.

“No, mom,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.

“So you’re just sleeping together without _talking_ about your argument first?”

“We’re married,” Dean says, “That’s like, part of the contract.”

“We’ll be fine, Emma,” Castiel says, “We’re going to talk right now.”

“Okay, Dad,” Emma says, turning her pointed stare on them. “I’ll let Jake know about the weekend.”

“Awesome. He better not be a vegetarian,” Dean says, “I’ll let you know what I’m gonna cook. You check it with him.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad, Padre.”

The silence in their kitchen after Emma’s face disappears is so fucking loud that it’s deafening. He’d been feeling kind of _awesome_ and now all the crap’s just rushing back to meet him again. Cas doesn’t move away from him, but Dean can feel him go from relaxed to tense and it’s just… it just sucks.

“So, are we going to talk?” Dean asks, which gets Cas exhaling. It’s enough that Dean’s about to stand up and walk out, but Cas can apparently sense where his thoughts are at.

“Dean,” Cas says, cutting him off before he can stand up. His voice is raw enough that it actually works. A little of Dean’s irritation dissipates. His go to of getting pissed isn’t always helpful, really, and that brand of Cas’ familiar ‘Dean’ is a good reminder that they should focus on the _actual_ problem rather than springing up new ones to distract themselves. 

“Yeah?” Dean asks, soft. 

“You're... I have been…”

“You trying to say I'm right?” Dean puts in, voice still low. He’s not even trying to be an ass, for once, it’s just Cas is struggling for words and Cas has always been a bit crap at apologising. Right now, the guy is also crap at all kinds of communication, so Dean’s gonna take a guess.

“Yes, thank you,” Cas says.

“You wanna tell me what's up?” 

“I... It's complicated.”

“I can handle complicated, Cas, I can't handle the fact that you haven't treated me like this since the first week I knew you.”

“I wasn't aware I was doing it, but... with Claire and Emma…”

“You were normal?” Dean subsides, which has Cas leaning incrementally closer towards him, leaning against his side. Dean winds up reaching for him, running his fingers through the guy’s hair on automatic, because maybe this conversation sucks, but it at least feels more _real_ than any of their interactions have for weeks.

“Yes,”

“We can't just have a functioning relationship when our kids are here,”

“No. I miss them.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Me too, Cas. But it's not fair if we let ourselves fall apart over it. Not on them, not on you.”

“Not on you either,”

“Well, I’m not so worried about that right now,” Dean says, “You gotta talk to me, Cas.”

“To a certain extent we protect them from our emotions,” Cas says, “And I think… perhaps, I’ve been doing it too successfully for a very long time.”

“So this is some long term thing that I’m just noticing now?”

“No,” Cas says, “I don’t know, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Dean says, pushing down the part of himself that wants to lay all of this on Dean Winchester, because who the hell knows what ‘a very long time’ even means. Cas isn’t giving him any fucking time scales. Is he talking months? Years? Two fucking decade of parenthood in which Cas has been sitting on shit instead of talking to him about it. “How can I help?”

“You’re not the problem,”

“Don’t mean I can’t help,”

“I don’t know,”

“Cas, please, you’re scaring me,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Stop _apologising_ , fucking hell,” Dean says, then catches himself, “Look…you, you’re unhappy. You’ve been pretending you weren’t cause of Claire and Emma and now it’s catching up with you. Am I getting this right?”

“It’s not because of you, Dean,”

“But you’re unhappy,” Dean says. The stark line of Cas’ lips feels like a stab wound, because… if Cas is _unhappy_ then Dean’s failed him. He’s failed him for however fucking long and he hasn’t even realised it, because Cas has been putting on his game face and Dean’s been buying it. “Okay. How long?”

“I don’t know,” 

“Awesome,”

“Dean,” Cas says, “I haven’t done this _intentionally_. I didn’t realise it just… I don’t want to talk about this anymore right now.”

“We need to fix this,”

“It’s not you,”

“If you finish that sentence with _it’s me_ then so help me, Cas,”

“Can I have a hug?”

“Yes, you bet it,” Dean says, pulling the guy into his lap to wrap his arms around him. Cas goes willingly, burying his face into Dean’s shoulder. “We gonna be okay?”

“We’re always okay,” Cas says, “We have to be.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t cut it, Cas,” Dean says, “Don’t get me wrong, you need to park this right now, that’s fine. This has been a pretty intense weekend. I just need to know somethings going to change. That you’re not gonna clam up and treat me like your frigging roommate that you sleep with occasionally.”

“You said your therapist could fit you in because she was avoiding her other half,” Cas says, “Why would you wish to take her advice about relationships?”

“Tina’s the best therapist I’ve ever had,” Dean says.

“You described her as three times divorced and a borderline alcoholic,”

“Right,” Dean agrees, “We have mutual respect for each other. She whines about husband number four. I talk about you. She gives me advice, I give her advice. That’s why she was so damn surprised when I said we were… you know. A damn mess. She gave me the woman's card. Said she’s the reason for the most amicable divorce she’s ever had,”

“That’s not the most convincing advert I’ve ever heard,”

“They got hitched in Vegas after knowing each other for four weeks,”

“Ah,” Cas says, “We could…go.”

“Sounds pretty awful,”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “I think we should. It’s at least something to tell Emma next time she tells us off.”

“Whatever you want, Sweetheart,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss the guy’s forehead and tighten his grip on him. Cas is unhappy and Dean’s pretty damn miserable right now, too, but having Cas' weight resting on him certainly doesn’t harm things.

“Do you feel… more connected to me now?”

“As long as that’s not a come on, yeah.”

“No, thank you,” 

“Turning down sex, now? Huh, must be bad.” 

“You’re still angry at me,” Cas levels, which…well, it’s true. It’s not the most pressing thought on Dean’s mind right now, but he can’t look Cas in the eye and deny it. He is angry. He’s more _concerned_ and _shaken up_ but he’s also pretty much completely pissed. Cas being unhappy isn’t a free pass to act like a complete asshole and it’s not _okay_ for Cas to try and make himself feel better via Meg rather than coming to Dean. It’s still all complete bullshit. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “You’ve basically been a complete dick. I’m not exactly an angel, though.”

“Hmm,” Cas says, then looks him straight in the eye, cups his jaw and kisses him. It’s a good kiss. It’s better than Thursday night, when Cas was just kissing him because he bought it up, and better than earlier when they were the usually kinda awesome prelude-to-sex kissing, that just happened to trip his brain up a little because it felt too much like _habit_ and not enough like either of their hearts were really into it. This is like the kind of kiss he’s only ever gotten from Cas; painfully serious and deliberate, like Cas is pouring out his damn soul in it.

Dean uses the guy’s hips to pull him closer, as Cas’ nose brushes Dean’s, till he’s close enough that Dean can _feel_ Cas’ breath catch in the back of his throat. Dean doesn’t kiss him again and just watches him instead, close and so goddamn vulnerable. 

“This still doesn’t fix anything,” Dean mutters.

“I know,” Cas says, fingers splayed over the bolt of his jaw, then he kisses him again.

*

Cas gets home from work whilst Dean’s trying to find the decent painkillers that are possibly out of date anyway, because his back hurts and the regular stuff just isn’t frigging cutting in. Past few weeks, Dean’s kind of missed the how-was-your-day-dear-shit that they do just because it hasn’t been happening, but the weekend was apparently enough that Cas follows the noise of him muttering swearwords to the medicine cabinet and pauses in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Hello, Dean,”

“Hey,” Dean says, as another packet of Claire’s pills hit him in the face, “You’d think she’d want these frigging things.”

“I asked,” Castiel says, “She said that the regulatory effects on her periods weren’t worth having to take them every day and that she’s given up on sex with men, so it didn’t matter.”

“And some parents are trying to get their kids to tell them more about their lives,” Dean mutters, “Any reason?”

“I believe she said, I quote, ‘it’s not a problem with dicks, per say, it’s just what they do with them’. She was speaking to Emma about it over breakfast.”

“Should we, I dunno, be less okay with that?”

“That would be very hypocritical,” Cas says, “I think it’s a very positive thing. Is it your back?”

“Hmm. Yeah.” 

“You need to go for a check-up,”

“I did,” Dean says, “I’m fine. You want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good,” Cas says, then steps forward and instantly plucks the pack of good painkillers from the chaos, because the guy’s basically a genius. Dean makes a point to lean forward and kiss the guy, because… well, if Dean’s going to tell have a go at him for crap loads of stuff then Dean should probably not to fall into the same frigging traps. It still feels a little _forced_ , but it’s marginally better. Nothing to throw a party about.

“Good news, Jake can rearrange for Sunday,”

“Why does he need rearrange?”

“Couples therapy. Saturday.”

“Oh,” Cas says, lips curling into one of those familiar frowns, “I wasn’t aware my suggestion yesterday was a binding contract.”

“Seize the day and all that,” Dean says, digging out two of the pill out from the packet and dry swallowing them. “I called at lunch. We’ve got pre-appointment questionnaires to do. Personal ones and a joint one.”

“Dean,”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, turning to face him. Cas looks a little like he’s been drained. Dean’s pretty sure they’ve gone six steps backwards from their last conversation, but there’s a lot to be said for the fact that Cas isn’t currently avoiding him, even if it’s a fucking tragedy that that’s to be taken as a good sign.

“Is this really necessarily?”

“It’s our thirty fourth anniversary next Thursday,” Dean shrugs, “Think of it as an anniversary present.”

“We don’t do anniversary presents,” Cas says, which Dean doesn’t dignify as a response. “Did they _say_ anything about your back at your check up?”

“You wanna quit changing the subject and actually talk about this?” Dean asks, “Twice, I feel like we’ve been damn close to nailing this thing. Thursday you said you didn’t feel like you were getting _me_ at the moment. Yesterday you started talking. I figure now we’ve both taken turns in brushing off the conversation, this time we knuckle down and we deal.”

“I’m tired,” Cas says, shoulder tensing up again. 

“Want me to cook?” Dean asks. He hasn’t even taken his dumb trench coat off yet, which lends something to the theory that Cas is overthinking the crap out of how to act like everything is _normal_ and doesn’t offer much for his peace of mind.

“Thank you,” Cas says, “I'm going to do some work.”

“Right,” Dean exhales, stuffing Claire’s pills back on the shelf then shutting the door, quickly, before anything can fall out. It shuts with a slam that reverberates around the room, though, and Dean’s not entirely sure he didn’t shut the damn thing a little too aggressively. 

“Dean, I am.”

“I never said you weren't,” Dean says, turning back around and heading out of the bathroom, because this whole thing stinks like an argument, and Dean’s so not down with arguing in the damn bathroom.

“Your ability to communicate without words has always astounded me,”

“Aces. Enjoy your _work_ ,” Dean says, heading back to the kitchen to get himself some coffee and _not_ alcohol, because he wants a drink too much to indulge in it. Stupid fucking mental health issues ruining his life and making think too hard about stress drinking beer.

“Would you feel better if you read my conversation with Meg?” Cas asks, following him into the kitchen like a puppy.

“I'm not reading your damn messages,”

“Why?”

“Because we're not fourteen years old, Cas, and if I gotta read your messages to put my mind at ease we've already got a massive fucking problem.”

“Why are you being like this?”

“I’m not being like anything,” Dean snaps, “I’m being my usual, charming, douchebag self, okay? So just… go do your fucking work if you wanna do your work. Whatever.” 

“Dean,”

“And I’ll email you over your fun questionnaire,” Dean adds, before throwing open the fridge door to glare at the content of the fridge like _it’s_ the reason Dean’s in a terrible mood.

Fuck, but Dean hates Mondays. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm little a bit broken right now cause I just caught up on the show. Whaaaatttttt. Also, angssttt ahoy.


	3. Chapter 3

“So,” Sam says, twenty minutes into their conversation, just after Dean’s finished relaying everything Emma and Claire said about Mary (not that Dean thinks it particularly helped any, but then this single parent gig that Sam’s doing is pretty damn tough; Sam’s just about permanently worried that he’s screwing up in some way or another), “Are you ready to do the meet the parents thing this weekend?” 

“Hell no,” Dean says, taking another swig of beer. “And it’s _Emma_. I think I could take a serious significant other from Claire.” 

“Cas home yet?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, glancing at his watch, “Probably got held up in traffic,”

“You wanna do something tonight?”

“Man, do I,” Dean says, “But… no. Cas. I gotta see Cas.”

“You don’t sound… enthusiastic,”

“You don’t wanna hear about my marital problems, Sammy.”

“Marital problems?” Sam asks, “That’s new,”

“Is it?” Dean asks, “I don’t know anymore.” 

“It’s new to me,” Sam says, which makes Dean feel kind of crappy in a bone-deep kind of way but… really, he hasn’t talked to _anyone_ about all of this except his therapist and Emma, and the Emma thing was unintentional. He _can’t_ bring up the fact that his relationship with Cas is going through a slight rough patch when Benny’s mid-divorce _again_ , Charlie’s long term girlfriend of eight years just turned around and said she’s not sure she wants a serious relationship and Sam was frigging _widowed_. Dean’s really got nothing to complain about. “Dean, you don’t have to protect me.”

“I know, I know,” Dean says, “Play a new record.” 

“Is that why he’s been avoiding me?”

“I got no idea,” Dean says, running a hand over his face. “I don’t have a damn clue what’s going on in his head, Sam, or with us. I’m not _protecting_ you, just don’t have that much to say about it.”

“What kind of marital problems?”

“All I’ve got so far is he’s unhappy,” 

“Huh,”

“What?”

“I, just… I always thought me moving here was the best thing for me and the best thing for Robbie and Mary, but not necessarily the best thing for Cas.”

“How d’you figure that?” 

“Dean,” Sam says and, oh yeah, that’s a bitchface on the other end of the line. “Us. Living in each other’s pockets again.”

“Come on, it’s not like you’ve upstaged the guy. He’s my husband.”

“You literally just said you’d rather spend this evening with me,” Sam says, all prissy and probably correct, in a way that makes Dean’s head ache. Damnit. “I’m not saying Cas has a problem with me being five minutes down the road…”

“You definitely are, though,” Dean says, “I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Will you?”

“Yes,” Dean says, “I’m not exactly enjoying living in the middle of the cold war, Sam,”

"Okay, sorry Dean. God."

“Either way,” Dean says, “You’re not actually the centre of the fucking universe. I’m sure the guy has a bigger problem than you.”

“This is really getting to you, huh? You don’t usually act like this much of a dick when you’re arguing with Cas,”

“Screw you, Sam,” Dean says, “Speaking of, sounds like he’s just getting in,” Dean says, sitting up slightly as he hears a car pulling in, rolling his shoulders back.

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Enjoy the passive aggression.” 

“Yep,” Dean says, “Looking forward to it,” Dean says, looking up as Cas walks through the front door then heads straight towards Dean, which is a good sign. He looks crumpled in the way that Cas always looks after a stressful day, even though Dean’s damn sure his shirt was perfectly ironed and his tie straight when he left for work (for one, because Dean was the guy who straightened his tie). He’s got his smiting expression on. “See you soon, Sammy.”

“I’ve had a very bad day,” Cas grumbles the second Dean’s hung up on Sam. They’re not exactly on good terms, still. They’ve been rocking the small talk and awkwardly giving each other lots of space for the rest of the week, which has at least made an inroad on the amount of time they’ve spent arguing. Dean swings his leg round so they’re not actually _on_ the sofa, giving Cas the opportunity to step into his personal space, hands settling on Dean’s shoulders.

“Anything I can do?” Dean asks, looking up at him.

“Your existence alone is very beneficial,”

“Aw, shucks,” Dean says, managing an actual smile, reaching to unknot Cas’ tie, fingers tracing the line of Cas’ shirt and pausing at his top button. 

“Isn't Emma coming tonight?” Cas asks, voice low and eyes dropping down to his lips and, damn, maybe his Friday night’s going to be a hell of a lot better than the rest of the week. If Dean doesn’t get a sudden wave of the shitty _disconnectness_ and wind up leaving them both sexually frustrated and irritated, that is.

“Late tonight,” Dean says, “Come on, handsome, let's get you de-work moded," Dean says, using Cas’ hips to pull Cas further into the space between his legs, smoothing a thumb over Cas’ hip bone. "God, you're beautiful when you’re all prissy.”

"Dean," Cas says, lips tilted in confusion. “You’re mad at me.”

“Well, sweetheart, that’s a lifetime occupation.”

“That’s not funny,”

“I’ve always had a pretty shitty sense of humour,” Dean says, “Come on, Cas, talk to me,”

“I’m disappointing you,” Cas says, mouth a straight, fixed line of displeasure and, okay, this is so not going the way he thought this conversation was heading.

“You’re not,” 

“I’m doing a terrible job of being your husband,”

“Cas,” Dean exhales, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Cas’ stomach for a split second, then leaning back and standing up so they’re on a level. “I don’t know where you’ve got this from… but if you really think that, that’s me doing a shitty job of being your husband.”

“No,” Cas says, letting Dean man handle him so they’re chest-to-chest. “You’ve always been so much better at this than me.”

“Bullshit,”

“You compliment me,”

“That’s ‘cause you’re cute,” 

“Dean,”

“Castiel,” Dean throws back, “You could always just compliment me, if it’s getting to you that much.”

“I… I _try_ ,”

“I don’t see them problem, Cas,” Dean says, “But if it bothers you, we work on it,”

“Thank you,” Cas says, then he’s rearranging his features into that practiced, closed off look that’s always irritated Dean right down to his frigging soul. He’s been dealing with _that_ look since he was a damn teenager and it’s only got more irritating. 

“That all I’m getting out of you today, huh?” Dean smiles, even though it’s a bitter tasting thing, “Awesome.”

“I’ve had a very bad day,” Cas frowns.

“Hey, I was offering to improve it,” Dean says, “Till you got all side tracked,”

“Oh,” Cas says, still frowning, but he moves a little closer all the same, “I would like that,”

“And the most socially awkward reaction to a come on award goes to… Castiel,”

“You’re still not funny,”

“Acing the complimenting thing,” Dean says, quirking up his eyebrows. Cas rolls his eyes, pulls Dean in by his shirt and meet his gaze dead on. Dean’s grin dies, just a little, because Cas is taking that as a damn challenge, and Dean’s not about to argue with that.

“I like this shirt on you,” Cas says, voice dropping a goddamn octave, running his capable fingers over the collar, then tracing the lines of the shirt with his hands. Dean wants to mock him for it, but Cas has got that look that still has the capacity to make Dean's mouth dry and his wise crack remark die in his throat. 

“Okay, you made your point.”

“I think I could make it more thoroughly,” Cas says, then he kisses him and, fucking _yes_ , this is what they were missing on Sunday: a bit of conversational foreplay before they got to the actual foreplay, so that Dean knows that even though their communication’s a mess and they haven't got anywhere in their many conversations about it, they still care about each other. Cas wants him, specifically. Cas isn't just in this relationship cause he got comfortable in this relationship. Cas is in because he wants to be in, whatever blip they're currently going through. “Take off your shirt.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, as Cas manhandles him onto the sofa and _damn_. Dean’s scrambling to get the guy’s belt off and Dean’s earlier suggestion that he’d rather be hanging out with Sam is wildly _wildly_ inaccurate, and not just because Dean’s pretty sure he’s gonna get laid. It’s the easy to and fro, familiar and intimate. It’s just nice for everything to feel normal. It's nice to feel that somethings okay.

Dean's half an inch away from having his hands on Cas' junk when his fucking phone goes off. Cas closes his eyes for a brief second then digs it out of Dean’s pocket, knees bracketing Dean’s thigh.

"Emma,"

"That girl needs to work on her timing," Dean says, as Cas slides his thumb over to answer. Dean’s debating whether that means they’re still _off_ because they enforced a not-answering-the-phone-rule-after-shirts-are-off rule a good decade ago, with occasional exceptions if someone rang _twice_ or if there was some kind of expected emergency. But then… Emma’s supposed to be turning up here at some point of evening. She’s probably calling with an ETA and that kind of thing happens to be useful. 

"Hi Padre, change of plan. I finished work early so I'm hitting the road now. Be over in half an hour to forty minutes. Okay?"

"Yes," Cas says, voice too low. "Looking forward to it."

"Awesome," Dean says.

"So you're actually in the same room today? Congratulations."

"Enough of your sass," Dean says. He’s still got his fingers digging into Cas’ shoulders, their legs are tangled together, shirt off, which he reckons classifies as more than in the same damn room. It’s probably best not to mention that to _Emma_ though. 

"Is it all sorted then?"

"Near enough," Dean says, wincing as Cas frowns at him.

"Good," Emma says, "See you soon!"

Dean's about to make the argument that they still have time when Cas’s frown deepens.

“You haven’t spoken to her about marriage counselling,” Cas says, which effectively kills the mood in one clean shot. Anyway, if they’re throwing in a conversation about fucking couples therapy in too, thirty minutes is definitely not long enough for anything and they probably should talk about it.

"No,"

"Why?"

“Do I usually tell our daughters intimate shit about our relationship?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “Especially when it will embarrass them or prevents them from nagging.”

“You know what? I’m gonna put my shirt back on,” Dean says, which is enough of a cue for Cas to _move_ and allow him the space to reach for it and sit up. “I figured you'd have backed out of it by now," Dean says. Cas' expression twists. "You don't really wanna go, Cas, I just pushed cause it was the only thing you'd let me push at. I figure if I made the appointment you'd talk to me straight to get out of it."

"It's tomorrow,"

"Obviously I was wrong,"

"You don't want to go?"

"I just want things fixed," Dean says, "The strategy to get there ain’t my priority."

"I said we should do it,"

"Okay, fine, so we do it,”

"Emma will be here,"

"She's twenty two. She'll handle us disappearing for a few hours."

“I wasn't suggesting we get a baby sitter,” Cas frowns, “She will ask where we’re going.”

“So we tell her,” Dean says, “Or we don’t. Either or.”

“Dean,”

“What, Cas?” Dean asks, “What? What do you want from me? You don’t wanna talk, you wanna talk, you don’t wanna hang out, then you do. You want to fool around, then you don’t. You say we’ll do the therapy crap and then you say you don’t want to, now you’re in again. What?” 

“I was going to ask whether you wanted a beer.”

Dean is _such_ an asshole.

“Yeah,” Dean says, “I do.”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, then he’s exiting the room, shirt half undone (and how the hell does Cas always manage to get Dean lopsidedly more naked?) leaving Dean stewing in his irritation. He’s pissed off, exhausted and now he’s sexually frustrated to boot. He’s fucking marinating in some sixteen layers of crappiness and he doesn’t see it getting all that much better soon. They just don’t seem to be getting through to each other.

“Thanks,” Dean manages, when Cas re-emerges with two beers. “Were you really gonna ask if I wanted a beer?”

“No,”

“Knew it,” Dean says, “You’re such a shit,”

“I’m sorry,”

“You’re not,” Dean says, “Guess I kind of deserved it. Sorry.”

“I’m also sorry we were interrupted,” Cas says, “Not least because it makes you significantly less pleasant to converse with.”

“Cheers to that,” Dean says, clinking their beers together.

* 

Castiel started stonewalling him two hours before they got to the damn appointment, so by the time Dean’s facing down the stupid therapist woman (a Dr Visyak) on the most uncomfortable couch he’s ever been subjected to, he’s not optimistic. The one thing they have going for them is that no one knows that they’re here (Emma conveniently went out for the evening to catch up with one of her high school friends, which killed the what-do-we-tell-her argument before they even started it) so Dean at least won’t have tell everyone about how awful and humiliating the whole damn thing is. He’s half convinced himself that Cas isn’t going to say anything _at all_ and Dean will be left making frigging small talk with the woman about the issues imbedded in his marriage, like that’s supposed to be a one person conversation.

He gave Cas so many opportunities to back out on the drive over that Cas is even more annoyed with him than he was before, which isn’t exactly a good start. Dean should have told Tina that Cas, whilst awesome and absolutely committed to talking about Dean’s shit, is the kind of guy that you have to _wait_ to come round before you can talk. Not that Dean won’t nag him, try and rile him up to get him in that angry-emotional place where he’ll start spilling his soul out, but it takes some concentrated effort. When Cas is in control and Not Ready To Talk, the whole things pointless. This entire experience is only going to get Dean more irritated and Cas more closed off and Dean _knew that_ , but he was counting on the guy getting stressed or angry or _something_ enough about it that it’d all come out before they got to this point.

But, no dice.

“So, Dean, Castiel, tell us about yourselves,” Eleanor says. Dean’s been to a lot of therapy, at this point, and he’s never felt more like he’s _in therapy_ which is ridiculous. The set-up of couch facing couch is so contrived and stupid. Eleanor made them both cups of coffee before they started. It’s awful.

“Wasn’t that kinda the point of the whole questionnaire shebang?” Dean asks. Eleanor smiles slightly. Cas is completely immobile and stoic next to him, so apparently it’s up to Dean to fill the silence. “Met in college. Been together just shy of thirty four years. Got married, like… twenty something years ago. We got two daughters. Youngest just went to college in Denver, eldest lives in Kansas City. She works with disadvantaged kids. Uh… nine till fives. Marital problems. Mortgages. Pretty regular stuff.”

“The so called marital problems. Tell me about that. Why come here now?”

“Cas? Wanna take the floor,” Dean asks, which gets him a blank look and silence so, apparently not. “I guess we’ve been struggling since our youngest daughter moved out. We’ve forgotten how to be a two. We’re arguing. Not communicating excetera excetera,”

“Would you agree, Castiel?” Eleanor asks, “Or do you prefer Cas?”

“Dean calls me Cas,” Castiel says, which gets Eleanor glancing in Dean’s direction and Dean trying hard not to roll his eyes. “Either is fine,”

“And do you agree?”

“Yes,”

“Okay,” Eleanor says, “I’d like to get to know you as a couple.”

“Uhuh,” Dean says, “I’m the arm candy. He’s the chatty one.”

“Hilarious, Dean,” Cas intones, which is frankly more than he was expecting from him. Damn, this was a bad idea. A really, really crappy idea. Cas won’t even catch his eye, so Dean has to settle for resting a hand on Cas’ left knee and giving it a slight squeeze. He gets _nothing_ back from him for three long seconds, then Cas reaches for said hand, linking their fingers together and clutches it like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to this office.

Therapist woman is tracking all their movements like a hawk.

“Thirty four years. You guys must have been…”

“Twenty two,” Cas cuts across.

“Lot of time to build up memories,”

“I guess,” Dean says, as Cas’ grip on his hand remains tight as ever.

“Tell me about your favourites,”

“Our _favourite_ memories?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes at her for a moment, “From the past thirty four years.”

“Yes,”

“Okay, well,” Dean says, “Easy. 2032. We took this vacation to New England. Claire was two, Emma six. My brother and his… well, his now late wife came too. First time Claire and Emma properly started going on. Sam was happy. We were _good_. Babysitters on tap. It was beautiful there, too. Babies… babies are stressful, you know, but at two she became kind of easier. Felt like the first time I was relaxed and well rested in years.”

“Castiel?”

“Christmas 2040,”

“That the year Emma handmade us all birthday presents?” 

“Yes,”

“Okay,” Therapist woman says, “Now something that doesn’t involve your children.”

“Okay,” Dean says, “Two years after we got married, before we adopted Emma, we were having a really crappy time. Felt like we’d been drowning in all the crap we were dealing with. Adoptions and mortgages and Cas accepting this promotion then regretting it and we just called a massive fuck it. So we booked a week’s holiday and stayed at home. We didn’t watch TV. Didn’t see our friends. Barely went out. Just… talked and hung out for days. Didn’t speak to anyone else. Just us. And it was awesome.”

“Really?” Cas asks, “That’s your favourite?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, as Cas frowns at him, “Really. Obviously everything else sucked, but we were good.”

“For our thirtieth anniversary, our daughters booked us a mini break. The hotel was truly…”

“Awful?”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “It was truly terrible. We had an excellent holiday, despite that.”

“So, the arguing, let’s talk about that,”

“Damn. I was kind of enjoying letting the good times roll, here,” Dean says.

“Dean, Castiel,” Eleanor says, “You came here for a reason. Both of you mentioned on your questionnaires that you were concerned about the amount you’ve been arguing.”

“We've always argued,” Castiel says, defences still up, nearly toneless. Dean’s aware that this woman’s job is to get couples to open up about this kind of thing, but he still kinda feels sorry for her faced with the impenetrable fortress that is Cas’ head and he still feels a deep compulsion to feel in the silence and start a conversation of some sort going. They are _paying_ for this woman’s time, at least.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “But we used to argue constructively.” 

“What do you mean?”

“We’d actually get stuff resolved. Eventually. Which we’re not at the moment.”

“Okay, tell me about an unresolved argument and I'll teach you some conflict resolution skills.” Silence. “An argument you've had recently.”

“Dean is angry at me because I was texting an old friend,” Cas says and, yeah, Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to regret ever wanting Cas to actually speak. He does _not_ want to go over this again, particularly not with witnesses. 

“That is so not what I was pissed about,”

“Dean, why don't you explain your side of the story,”

God, he does not want to be talking about this with a complete stranger. At least Dean is kind of used to this kind of deal, though, which is more than can be said of Cas. 

“Okay, so Thursday nights have been family night for years. When Claire and Emma got old enough not to need a sitter, we'd have a date night every Wednesday. Then Claire got all prissy and sarcastic about how we didn't have a night, so... family night. We'd just all watch TV or hang out. After Emma moved out, she'd video call in or something. We haven't managed it much since Claire moved out cause she's trying to settle and, well, it's not the coolest thing for an eighteen year old. It was Halloween, so Claire cancelled, then Emma was working late, but I figured we'd still hang out, you know? But when I got back from seeing my brother, Cas had already eaten and he'd set up shop doing work. Figured he obviously didn't wanna spend time with me and I didn't want a fight, so I left him to it. Then Emma called and I was coming to give him the phone and he's sat there texting Meg and smirking at his damn phone and, yeah, I got mad."

"Has Castiel ever given you any reason not to trust him?"

"No," Dean says, but he's a beat too late. He’s internally cursing himself before anyone actually gets round to speaking, but he didn’t fucking mean to. He trusts Cas. They have plenty of issues, but that’s not one of them.

"You hesitated."

"I didn't," Dean says. 

"I cheated on him,"

"I was over that three fucking decades ago. Don't act like you think that's my issue, Cas,” Dean snaps, tightening his death grip on Cas’ hand. They must look pretty ridiculous, with the arguing and them both doing a good impression of squeezing each other’s hands off. Cas’ grip doesn’t loosen, either, so at least he’s not the only person acting like he’s frigging crazy.

"You hesitated."

"I'll rephrase. Castiel, do you have any history with Meg that would give Dean a reason to be insecure about you texting her?"

"I slept with her,"

"When we were at college," Dean says, "That's got nothing to do with it."

"Would you have been as irritated if I'd been texting Gabriel?"

"No," Dean says, "because your brother doesn't fucking flirt with you."

"So you _don't_ trust me."

"I trust you just fine. Meg’s your friend. I don't like her, but I made peace with that a few decades back. Man, I don't care that she flirts at you. With you. Fine. What I _object to_ is you throwing me over and pushing me out, then purposefully talking to her because you're in a snit and you know Meg's gonna flirt with you and that's gonna make you feel better, whilst I'm upstairs alone feeling like shit."

"Would you not do the same with Benny?" Cas asks, features arranged in the exact way that makes Dean want to start throwing things.

"That's different."

"Is it?"

"Yes," Dean says, "for a start, Benny doesn't frigging _flirt_ with me." Cas arches an eyebrow. "Maybe in front of you, but that's just to wind you up."

"You were previously involved."

"If we broke up tomorrow, Benny wouldn't have tried to jump my bones by Wednesday."

"Are you sure?"

"He's my best friend, dude. What the hell."

"I'm merely highlighting your hypocrisy."

"You got a problem with Benny?"

"Not in the slightest.” Cas says, voice still completely level, the complete shit that he is. Cas is the _worst_ at being self-righteous in arguments. He’s the king of hammering a point home to the extent that he explodes arguments way out of proportion. Cas will break things trying to prove he’s right.

"You're such a pain in my ass,"

"Okay, guys, let's bring it back. Castiel, has Dean previously gotten irritated about this?" Eleanor asks, which is about the time that Dean remembers that they’re currently say in couple’s therapy and there are actually other witnesses to this whole disaster. It’s pretty much humiliating. Dean can’t quite believe that he agreed to this, let along the fact that he’s paying actual money for it. Goddamnit.

"No," 

"Thank you," Dean says, rolling his eyes. 

"I told you what we were discussing, Dean."

"It's not the content, dude, it's the context."

"Dean," therapist woman says, "Do you think Cas was flirting with Meg?"

"Probably," Dean says, "but it's... Meg flirts. I don't really give a shit if Cas responds to it sometimes. They're friends. We've got thirty four years of hard work and memories in this and I trust him. I mean, come on, I flirt with waitresses to get bigger slices of pie and this woman at Cas' office who used to have a thing for him all time, just cause it gets Cas all affectionately exasperated. It's a none issue ninety percent of the time." 

"So you decided to make it an issue because you were irritated that I was doing work on a Thursday evening, despite failing to mention to me you wanted to spend time together?” Cas asks, eyebrows arched upwards.

"It was family night, Cas."

"You went to see your brother first,” Cas says, which is the moment Dean gets angry enough to let go of Cas’ hands and to turn in his seat to glare at him. Cas’ eyes flash.

"Cause he was having a damn crisis!"

"Based on the evidence, I assumed that was more important to you than family night,"

"So now you're bringing Sam into this? I told you I was going over there for half an hour to check in."

"I know," Cas says.

"Okay," the therapist says, "We've talked a lot about how Dean felt about everything. Castiel, how about you give your version of events?"

"I wanted to get some work done and Meg text me asking for some advice about purchasing a gift for her step daughter," Cas says, "Dean yelled at me whilst our daughter was on the phone, then our daughter rang me back to inform me that I was being insensitive and that Dean was struggling with his depression,"

"What upset you about the argument?"

"I don't understand what we're achieving here."

"Awesome," Dean mutters.

"Castiel,"

"Whatever, I know what _upset_ him about the whole thing," Dean says, rolling his eyes and folding his arms.

"Okay, Dean, if you summarise his side Castiel can say if you're correct."

"Cas is pissed off because he thinks he's a goddamn _saint_ who didn't do anything wrong and I was just 'projecting' my bad mood on him."

"That sounds fairly accurate."

"Then we’re not achieving anything," Dean says, "So forget it." 

"Cas can you summarise what upset Dean?" Therapist woman, Eleanor, asks, which gets Cas staring at her without saying anything at all. "Conflict is based on a perceived or actual difference of opinion over an issue. Sometimes when both individuals sit down and share their side, there's not a conflict at all, just a difference in understanding of the problem. For example, Castiel perception of the issue was that Dean objected to Castiel texting Meg due to their history, a lack of trust and because Dean was already in a bad mood. Whilst Dean's perception is that Castiel choose to spend time texting Meg over spending time together, which Dean perceived as a lack of care and interest in his needs," She says, "In this case, where's the conflict?" 

"I wanted to hang out, Cas didn't. So it's just a communication problem."

"Do you understand Castiel's perspective?"

"I guess,"

"Castiel?"

"Yes,"

"Be less convincing, I dare you."

“Okay,” Eleanor says, nodding, “That’s something to work on.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, arms still folded. Cas virtually hasn’t moved since Dean let go of his hand. He’s basically turned into fucking robot, which Dean probably should have seen it coming. This was the worst idea.

“Back to your favourite memories. What did they all have in common?”

“They were all a long ass time ago?” Dean suggests, which gets an audible scowl from Cas. It doesn’t impress Eleanor, either. “They were all deviations from the draining humdrum of our everyday lives?”

“Almost,” Eleanor says, “They were occasions you actively spent quality time together. The last two you mentioned, in particular, were times you actively spent time together in adverse circumstances. That’s great. That’s a really good sign.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, “Guess we won’t sack it in just yet, then.”

“It’s completely normal and natural for parents to focus on their children’s needs before their own marriages and to feel at a loss when they’re released from some of those parenting responsibilities. We can work on – ”

“Dean,” Cas says, then, “Are we done here?”

“Are _you_ done here?” Dean asks, turning to face him properly. Behind the thick facade of indifference, Cas looks uncomfortable. He looks several stages beyond uncomfortable. Dean shouldn’t have let go of his damn hand, because at least that was a semi-private indication of feelings. Cas is the worst at letting people in, which is half the reason Dean _knew_ this was a terrible idea.

“Yes,”

“Okay,” Dean says, standing up, “Then I guess we’re done.”

*

“Well I’m sure glad we went to couples therapy,” Dean says, when he’s put the car into park right outside their house after a completely silent drive home. Cas hasn’t spoken since they walked out part of the way through their therapy appointment. Not a single fucking word. Cas exhales which is passive aggressive enough that Dean just shakes his head and gets out of the damn car. If Cas is going to act all high and mighty then Dean’s not sticking around to deal with it, at least not before he’s got himself a beer or some goddamn whiskey. 

“Dean,” Cas calls after him, after he’s near enough storming towards the front door and stuffing the keys in the lock. “If you could curb your natural tendency to flip out for long enough for me to speak –“

“Now you wanna talk, huh?” Dean asks, “An hour of me making an ass of myself talking at a brick wall and suddenly you’re a regular chatty Cathy.” 

They’re inside now, Dean heading for the kitchen and the fridge with Cas trailing behind him.

“Had I understood the reason you were upset was because I missed TV night –“ 

“- what’s fucking hilarious,” Dean interrupts, “Is after all that _shit_ and all your stoic one word answers, and thirty goddamn years, you still don’t _listen to me_. Don’t tell me why I’m upset. And don’t fucking act like you ‘missed’ it because you were busy, or because you forgot or any of that crap, Cas. You defrosted that chilli with every intention of derailing the whole thing and you acting any different is just pissing me off.” 

“I wasn’t aware it was so important.”

“That’s a load of crap,” Dean says, “And hang your fucking coat up, dude, how _goddamn hard_ is it to hang up your fucking coat?”

“Grow up, Dean.” 

“You mean like the rest of our friends who’ve ‘grown up’ and sunk their relationships cause they’re too busy being adults to pay attention.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Cas says, divisive and clipped. Cas is the one that heads for the alcohol first, which is new. At least for a long time anyway. Cas hasn’t used alcohol for a coping mechanism since Naomi died six months ago, and not at all in the years before that.

“No, it aint,” Dean says, “Not now, not ever. But you gotta give me something to work with here, man. You ever care how screwed up this all is right now? You even give a damn, Cas? Or is this all just _habit_.” 

“Arguing certainly seems to be more habitual every day.”

“Fine,” Dean snaps, reaching for his own beer. “Forget it.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, punctuating every single word. “I don’t know why you’re yelling at me.”

“Then why the hell did we just waste a whole evening with that shitty shrink?”

“Uh, hi,” Emma says, stepping in from the living room, and Dean’s stomach drops, because that was a much _much_ worse argument than the one she heard over the phone and it’s the second she’s heard this week.

“Thought you were going out to meet your friend,” Dean says, exhaling than turning to face her, trying his damndest to act like them screaming at each other in the kitchen is just a-okay and not a symptom of something pretty damn worrying, actually. 

“I did,” Emma says, “Then I came back. Couples counselling, huh?”

“We're not talking about this,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas chastises and that is fucking _it_. Dean's not the one with a permanent stick up his ass or holding his innermost thoughts ransom, so Dean's not going to be the one who's made out to be the bad guy in front of his kid. Dean’s the one who’s been trying. Dean’s been trying _so_ damn hard to crack open Cas’ façade and to work out what the hell is with him, but somehow Dean’s always the one who comes out looking like an ass. His temper absolutely doesn’t help, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t actually his fault, this time.

Dean seconds away from losing his shit big time and Emma may have come a long way, but she still hates conflict. Its part of the reason why she's so good at her job, because she sniffs it out and deals with it before it even gets out of hand.

“Right, I'm going out.”

“If you're so desperate to avoid spending time together, I'm sure it's my turn to angrily storm out,”

“Well according to you I'm the only one with the fucking problem, so.”

“Are you going to your brother's?”

“No,” Dean says, “Yes. I don't fucking know.”

“Benny's, perhaps?” 

“Oh fuck you Cas,” Dean snaps. “You're unhappy, I get it. I don't _get_ why you've gotta drag me down too. If you're going to start digging at every damn area of my life –“

“I am _not_ trying to make you unhappy,”

“Well I guess that's an unexpected bonus then. Congratulations, Cas, you nailed it.”

“Do _not_ talk to me like that in front of our daughter.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, fight deflating out of him. Emma's glancing between them, eyes shining like they used to when they used to argue. Dean's stomach turns over to the point where he suddenly feels sick. Goddamnit. He is the _worst_ at dealing with all this crap. It’s bad enough that he’s fucking up with Cas without upsetting Emma too. "Shit. Shit. Emma, I'm sorry. I'm..."

"Going out," Cas says, voice tight.

"Right," Dean says, swallowing back the guilt and nodding. "An hour, max," Dean says, more directed at Emma than Cas, because that's how they used to get round her anxiety: schedule everything in down to the minute. It doesn't seem to help now, though, when Emma's got a white knuckle grip on her phone and looks like she's about to cry or have a panic attack. "Sixty minutes," Dean says, shoving his hands back in his pockets, fists clenched.

It’s not exactly the Saturday evening he was hoping for.

*

He gets back in fifty minutes, after which he's walked off most of his frustration and had enough time to think about what a dick he's been. He's still mad. He's still layer upon layer of mad, and at some point they're going to have to peel them all away and work out whatever crappy emotion is hidden underneath it all, but for the time being his priority is making sure that he didn't scare Emma too much, and that he can patch it up with Cas before Jake visits tomorrow. The serious structural work can wait, but he's at least looking for some mutual apologies and an agreement to pretend the whole day didn't happen until Monday.

"Hey," Dean says, pausing in the doorway of their front room and looking at the two of them. Sometimes it's good to take stock, which is more or less what he's been doing for the past thirty minutes, and seeing the way Cas and Emma interact always makes everything incrementally better.

"You in for the next round of rummy?" Emma asks, frowning at her cards. She's perched on the futon she's dragged across the room to face the sofa, which leaves Dean with the only not awkward option (which is still pretty awkward) of sitting down next to Cas on the sofa.

"Yeah, deal me in next round,"

Cas leans forward and kisses him when he sits down, hand going to his knee. It’s such a bone deep relief to have Cas touch him like everything’s okay, that Dean sinks into it.

"If you wanted to know if I've been drinking you could have just asked," Dean says, which has Cas leaning forward to kiss him again just to spite him. “Sorry,” Dean exhales, “Both of you.”

“Dad says you’re not usually that mean to each other,” Emma says and Dean can just _feel_ from her voice that she’s been considering her words for approximately the past hour. ‘Mean’. Yeah, mean probably sounds about right. He was just plain fucking _mean_.

“We’re not,” Dean says, closing his eyes for a second, “We’re not. That was… dumb. Bad. A big mistake.”

“You’re cold,” Cas says, folding their hands together.

“Went for a walk,”

“For an hour?”

“It’s November, Cas, not the bleak midwinter,” Dean says, “I’m fine.”

“You could have gone to Sam or Benny,”

“I know,” Dean says, “Quit fussing.”

“Are you… going to be okay?” Emma asks, meeting his gaze.

“Yes,” Cas and Dean says in unison.

“Heh,” Dean says, smiling, “We’re in sync again.”

Cas smiles back. It’s a surface level smile, but it’s still quite an improvement.

“So, are you going back to this… counselling?” Emma asks, picking up another card. Emma isn’t smiling or meeting their eyes anymore, she’s just focusing on rummy like it’s suddenly become interesting in some way. It’s not. They’re probably only playing to patch up the awkward space left by Dean and Cas’ big argument.

“God no,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ hand tight, “Right?”

“Right,” Cas agrees.

“Sort this out the old fashioned way. Just us hashing it out through the medium of yelling and angry sex.”

“Okay, so too much information,” Emma says, “I could tell Jake to come another time?”

“It’s cool,” Dean says, throwing an arm over Cas’ shoulder, “We’re Mr and Mr Stepford,”

“I don’t think that’s as reassuring as you intended it to be,” Cas says, but he leans into Dean’s arm anyway.

“Talk later?” Dean asks, when Emma’s nipped out to get them all another beer. Cas nods and his face under Dean’s arm. Everything still pretty much sucks, but they’ve sort of gotten used to that over the past couple of months.

* 

It’s an hour and a half after they’ve all headed up to bed, but Dean knows full well that they’re both lying awake on opposite side of their double. Cas checked his phone approximately fifteen minutes ago, but neither of them have moved since then. Dean’s just been listening to his breathing and trying to work up some words that he wants to say to the guy, but there are too many and he doesn’t know where to start. _Sorry for basically everything I said today_ is an option, but… he’s not. He’s sure as shit sorry about the way he said it, but there was a lot of truth packaged up in there too. He’s mad at Cas. He’s mad at _himself_. He’s definitely mad at Meg, even if none of this is actually her fault (still, he’d love to pin this whole damn thing on her). He might just well be unhappy. Not _depressed_ , but straight up unhappy.

“So,” Dean says, into the dark silence of his side of the bed. He can _feel_ Cas’s tension levels rack up from the other side of the room, but… well, that was probably inevitable. Dean was pretty much awful today. He was the worst. “I know we didn’t talk yet and you’re probably righteously pissed at me right now, but… you think you could get over here and hold me?”

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, shifting to Dean’s side of the bed, his arms suddenly wrapped tight around his back. Dean exhales. Fuck, Dean is so glad that they’re still in this thing _enough_ that they’re pretty much experts in ignoring arguments at this point. In reality, it’s probably half the problem. If they weren’t so good at burying stuff then everything might be doing a little better.

“Shouldn’t have made you do the couples therapy thing,”

“You didn’t _make_ me do anything, Dean,” Cas says, all soft and close in his ear.

“Knew you didn’t wanna do it, though,” Dean says, “Then I yelled at you for acting exactly how I figured you’d act,”

“You did do that,” Cas concedes, “However, you are correct that this is _my_ issue." 

“Nah, that’s bullshit,” Dean says, “We don’t have _Cas_ issues and Dean issues in this thing. We have us issues.”

“Except your mental health, which remains a _Dean_ issue.”

“Cas,”

“I’m sorry, that’s irrelevant. I can’t seem to _help_ myself at the moment.”

“You and me both, sunshine,” Dean says, “Antagonising you is like a drug to me.”

“We’re going to fix this,” Cas says. It’s terrifying that Cas seems to sound like he’s trying to convince himself, not just stating a fact. It is a fact. They’re Dean and Cas. They’ve dealt with a hell of a lot worse than their kids moving out. They’re stupidly in love. They work at their relationship. They have date night. They’re going to make it long term. They’re not going to be fucking _broken_ by complacency. It’s not happening.

“Yeah we are,” Dean says, as Cas tightens his grip. “You got any plan on how to do that?”

“Not currently,” Cas says, fingers splayed across his stomach. 

“Problem number one, antagonising each other. Problem number two, you’re unhappy and you’re not ready to talk about it yet,”

“I would like frame that as ‘communication issues’,” Castiel says, “It feels less individually directed.” 

“Okay, but that’s pretty general. Can we go with ‘burying stuff’?”

“Acceptable,”

“Problem number three,” Dean says, “You thinking you’re disappointing me. Which you ain’t.”

“I definitely disappointed you today,” Cas says.

“You… okay, well, _yes_ it didn’t exactly go great, but that’s like seventy percent my fault,” Dean says, turning in the loop of Cas’ arms to face him, “Problem number four, the disconnectedness thing.”

“How many problems are we attempting to list here?”

“I estimate we have least six hundred. You gotta name some too, Cas.”

“Problem number five; we no longer have any idea how to ‘actively spend time together’. Problem number six, I have no idea what you want from me. Number seven, you persistently and accidentally conduct our marital breakdowns in front of our sensitive younger daughter. Number eight, I am _still_ not a mind reader. Number nine –“

“ – okay, okay, you’ve contributed,” Dean says, swallowing, “I’m sorry for this whole mess,”

“Me too, Dean,” Cas says, managing an almost smile.

“Well, that's that squared away. Now we just gotta act like we’re madly in love when this _Jake_ comes over tomorrow. Awesome.”

“Yes,” Cas says, but he’s already shutting Dean down again. He doesn’t let go, but Dean’s been married to the guy for long enough to know when Cas is emotionally shut away and when he’s actually in the moment. Cas’ hold on him goes back to feeling like it’s rehearsed and practiced. Dean’s head goes spiralling back to that place where Cas doesn’t even _care_ he’s just playing the part to make his life easier. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night,” Dean mutters, slamming his eyes shut and internally going through the ‘coping mechanisms’ shit he’s been taught and practiced over the past few decades, for those moments when he feels like he just might fall back down the rabbit hole.

They’re going to be _fine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaa this might be the longest argument ever? I'm not sure. Hah. I promise an improvement in communication soon. Probably.
> 
> Also, disclaimer: I have never been to couples therapy. Or indeed been in any kind of relationship I would call serious. At this point in the story, I have zero idea what I'm writing about.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas is clearly pissed off when Dean gets home late on Wednesday night and no less so when Dean brings in a bag of groceries, which was approximately what Dean was expecting. They haven’t been _yelling_ since the weekend, but that doesn’t mean their whole relationship isn’t still on rocky, rocky ground. Dean knew there was going to be fallout from pulling the late-home act but… shit, if ever there was a good reason. 

"You're late," Cas says, voice flat. 

"I said I was gonna be," 

"Your text message said _I'm going to be late tonight_ ," Cas says, arms folded in the kitchen, glaring at him whilst Dean puts away the rest of the groceries. Cas isn’t helping him to make a point, obviously, but it still feels uncomfortable to be arranging the fridge with such an irritated, silent audience, so far up in Dean’s personal space. 

"Exactly,"

"You then ignored the rest of my messages."

"Yeah," Dean says, turning to frown at him, fridge door still open.

"If this is retaliation for last week then –”

"- its not," Dean says, "did you eat?"

"Its half eight,"

"And I figured you'd assume I ate without you so passive aggressively didn't eat so you could make a point. So I picked up some salmon."

"Salmon?" Cas asks, tone lifting slightly. Cas is so damn easy to play sometimes. Dean has the advantage of knowing literally everything about the guy (apart from, apparently, whatever it is that’s making Cas unhappy right now), but still. Fucking _salmon_ and Cas is already a little less righteously pissed. 

"Call it an apology. And I can explain about being late, okay, I just... let me put food on."

"There's still the rest of the potatoes from yesterday. Although I don't see why we can't discuss this now,” Cas says, but his voice a little less _guarded_. There’s hope for this conversation yet.

"Five minutes, Cas," Dean says. "Okay?"

Cas concedes by brushing past him to pour himself a glass of wine. He's still prickly and irritated, which isn't ideal, but filleting the fish and shoving it in the oven is enough time to get Dean refocused. Cas is still just watching him. Just _staring_ like he’s always done, but with none of the usual warmth.

"Are you ready to justify yourself now?"

"Get over here," Dean says, stepping across the kitchen to wrap his arms around the guy's back, even though Cas is tense and doesn't settle into the touch in the slightest. He just stands there, awkward and stiff and glaring at him. 

"Why is this necessary? You're supposed to be explaining _why_ there is one rule for you and one for me and and why I am being punished for the simple fact of keeping up with my friends."

"No one is punishing you, Cas," Dean says, running a thumb over the line of bare flesh under his shirt that Dean has access too. "I wasn't late back because of any of those things, I promise, now will you quit being so angry at me so we can talk?”

"Why does talking also involve holding me?"

"Humour me," Dean says, then sucks in a deep breath.

“Dean,”

He’s been playing this conversation over and over in his head, but it’s still pretty much impossible to start it. His chest feels tight, a little like the run up to a full blown panic attack, but it’s not anxiety, exactly. He’s just... damn. He doesn’t know _what_ to think and this whole damn afternoon has completely taken him by surprise. He figured that they had enough stuff going on without trying to squeeze in _health problems_.

“Sorry, this is… okay. Cas, can you… I know this is shit timing, but I need you park the rest of everything so we can have this conversation.”

“What conversation?” Cas asks, eyebrows arched upwards.

"So… so I'm late because I totally forgot I had this appointment at the hospital until the Doc called to remind me.”

"Why didn't you just tell me that instead of sending me cryptic text messages?"

“Because, Cas,” Dean says, swallowing, “That’s what we need to have a conversation about. It was follow up from the check up,”

“About your back?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “That. They did some tests.”

“You didn’t tell me they were doing some tests,”

“They always do some tests,” Dean says, “It never _means_ anything. It’s just shit they pull when they’re trying to make you think they give a damn about your problems.”

“You have a very strange view of doctors,”

“Look, this is off point. So, they did this, like, blood test thing. I don’t know. I didn’t think about it. I was pretty distracted by the cluster fuck of everything else that was going on, but I…. damnit, okay. I didn’t _tell_ you why I was gonna be late home, cause I didn't really feel like telling you they think I have cancer over the damn phone, especially when they said I could wait out the tests if I was prepared to stick around a couple of hours."

"Do you?"

"They're pretty sure, yeah," Dean says, tightening his grip on Cas' waist, "I gotta go back in for scans and a couple of examination things which sounds as invasive as fuck. Don't freak, Cas, it's not that bad. Prostate which is kind of hilarious, really, and if I've got it its pretty early stages. So just, it's gonna… be fine. That’s why I’m late home and that’s why I didn’t call.”

"Oh," Cas says, blinking. The guy’s gone from guarded to the wide-eyed vulnerable thing Cas does sometimes. The sort that scares Dean something stupid. He’d been expecting it though. He figured this would knock Cas for six. What else could it do, really, except send Cas further into this unhappy thing that Dean barely understands?

"Hey, come on," Dean says, reaching forward to run this thumb over the guy’s cheek bones. "We've got this." 

"I don't feel like I got this,"

"Which is why I'm holding you, see?" Dean says, "It's okay, Cas, I got you. You need a minute or ten then that's fine, but then you're gonna pour me some wine and we're gonna put an old film on and have date night.” 

"Prostate cancer," Cas says, "You can't have it. I would have noticed."

Dean beams at that.

"Whilst you're pretty much all up in my business, you're not a doctor, sweetheart. Though you wanna re-explore that whole area later, I'm not stopping you."

"This isn't amusing,"

"I know, Cas," Dean says, reaching forward to kiss his forehead. "But whatever you're thinking right now, you don't need to. One step at a time."

"I....you want wine."

"Yeah," Dean says allowing Cas to leave the circle of his arm only because he's getting him a wine glass. "You okay?"

Cas kisses him when he returns with the glass, open mouthed and a little too long for the middle of a conversation, but it feels like it's been a while. It’s more honest than any physical affection he’s had for a while. It’s a bitter thought to dwell on, but Dean’s pretty sure they wouldn’t be looking into each other’s eyes in the damn kitchen if Dean hadn’t been dealt another shitty blow. It’s taken _cancer_ to shake them out of this rut, however temporarily.

"You taste like beer,"

"Well, after I was done at the hospital I went and got a beer. Then I stopped off to get the fish. Lube, too, just cause I'm pretty sure we're nearly out." 

"You went to a bar?"

"I needed a minute. And a drink. Are you okay?"

"The more pertinent question is whether _you_ are okay.”

"Well it’s been a crap day and a crap week but, yeah, I'm okay. Not exactly hot on all the urinary problems and erectile dysfunction stuff she was taking about. Treatments all sound profoundly shitty, but we gotta go over that when they know more. All things considered, I'd really rather not have cancer. But, we're in our fifties and this is the first time any of us have really got sick. Physically sick, anyway. That's not bad going, Cas."

"You're very... chill,"

"The beer helped," Dean says, “You mad I went for a drink?”

“I am sure cancer gives you a free pass,” Cas says, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, sounds like that could be… more complicated,” Dean says, “I freaked out and started asking about our sex life like, straight off. She gave me a leaflet.” 

“She gave you a _leaflet_?”

“Yeah, man, they have special leaflets for dudes who sleep with dudes who almost definitely have prostate cancer. I have general ones too.”

“That’s… good,”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “For the third time of asking, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Cas says, swaying into him again, “This is…”

“For one, shitty timing,” Dean says, “She offered me the number of some cancer therapist. Said you could talk to someone too. Figured you’d probably had enough of therapy for a while,”

“Dean,”

“Not the time for a joke?” 

“Can I have a hug?” Cas asks, which mostly just breaks Dean’s heart clean in fucking two for no good reason, and is possibly a request that Dean’s never, ever going to be able to turn down. Cas is already pretty much leaning on him for support anyway, so it’s the easiest thing ever for Dean to wrap his arms around him and squeeze, tight. They just breathe with each other for a while, then Cas steps away, rearranges his expression into something a little less I’m-terrified-about-what-you-just-told-me and a little more roll-on-the-denial, cause Cas always knows what Dean needs. “What film did you want to watch?”

*

They finish the bottle of wine and then nearly finish another, and Cas actually makes him laugh, and the food’s good, which somehow winds up with them fooling around on the sofa. He'd been fully planning to do this when the kids were gone for years, but it's the first time it's actually happened. And then they wind up on the floor, which is graceless and would be completely uncomfortable if he wasn’t completely high on _Castiel_. Cas is great. Cas is _everything_. Cas makes having shitty prostate cancer okay, just by one of his familiar frowns, and the way Cas looks at Dean like Dean’s worth everything.

Sometimes, Dean feels so fucking in love with the guy that it bowls him over just as much as it did the first time he realised. He gets caught up in it and it’s frigging _awesome_ , because now he has all these extra years and memories and extra _stuff_ that he gets to dwell on whenever he’s indulging in it. He gets to smile at him like a sap and Cas won’t ever call him out of it. It hasn’t happened much lately, maybe, but that’s not because of Cas. That’s just a side effect of everything else that’s going on all the time. He’s busy and he’s so _used_ to being in love with Castiel Novak, that he doesn’t acknowledge it as much. It’s just fact. It’s the way he’s wired.

It’s when they’ve finally talked themselves off the floor and into their actual bed, when Dean’s propped up on one elbow and just _looking_ at him that Dean finally manages to find the will power to bring it up. It’s too good of an evening, really, which is ridiculous considering the shit that’s happened to him today. It’s actually pretty astounding that a few hours of quality time with Cas pretty much made the rest of that stuff negligible, and pretty awful that he’s been doing without it for such a frigging long time.

“So, I had a thought,”

“Congratulations, Dean,” Cas says, smiling, warm and lovely. 

“Happy anniversary by the way, asshole,” Dean says, which gets Cas leaning forward to kiss him. He tastes exactly like the second bottle of wine that they probably shouldn’t have drank, but what the hell. “Three minutes in, by my watch,”

“I love you,”

“Thirty five years on,” Dean says, “Kind of a miracle,”

“A miracle,” Cas repeats, flat. Cas has always hated him using _God_ words flippantly which is ridiculous, given he’s been doing it for much longer than thirty five years. He’s got extra prissy since he started going back to church with Emma, not that he’s been for a while. Dean figured he just didn’t like going alone.

“And on the subject of our many happy years together…” Dean says, “I was going over stuff you said when I was waiting at the hospital. I mean, repeatedly, actually. You’re basically my happy place, even when our relationship’s fucked. I’d been kind of focusing on all the ways you being unhappy made me a screw up and all the crap I was doing wrong up till then… then I’m sat in the hospital, alone, and I just…. Cas, don’t get me wrong. I have been letting you down. I have been letting you down _repeatedly_ but… okay…”

“Dean,” Cas says, “I’m not sure I want to discuss this right now.”

“Your Mom,”

Dean knows he’s hit the jackpot by the way the warmth and _openness_ that Cas wears after that much wine flickers out of existence, till he’s got a steal blue glare and a straight-lipped expression pointed in his direction. There’s no satisfaction in figuring it out – at least, some of it, the more Dean thinks the more he seems to dig up – it’s just guilt, frustration and a little bit of shame too. He remembers thinking at the time that Cas’ reaction had been a load of contrived bullshit. One night of drinking, then straight to well-adjusted acceptance and funeral planning. He stood around looking maudlin at the funeral alongside his brothers and spouted some well-chosen words about what a great grandmother she was (true, Dean begrudgingly admitted that well over a decade ago). He had two glasses of wine at the wake and made small talk with a few family members he’s pretty sure Dean’s never met, introducing them to Claire and Emma with the exact right amount of solemnity. No one’s that good at grief. It’d bad been damn creepy. He’d even bugged Sam about it because Dean wanted to know if he was overthinking it, and Sam had just shrugged and thrown up a line about how Naomi had been ill and old and Cas had a lot of time to prepare himself for it. Dean hadn’t bought it, but he figured Cas would come to him when he was ready. And then he didn’t, so then he’d doubted his instinct and… and it’s not like _Dean_ ever lost someone when they were old and sick; everyone he loved died bloody and died young. He thought Sam might be right. He figured he’d know if Cas wasn’t okay. And then he just _forgot_.

Life moved on. Claire was applying to college. Emma was gushing about her new job. Mary became a teenager. Sam started talking about _dating_. Bobby was grouching around in his wheelchair. It all just happened and kept happening, till thinking about Naomi was so far down his list that he forgot she was supposed to be on it.

“It was six months ago, Dean.”

“Greif don’t exactly work to a timescale, Sweetheart.” 

“I’m not _grieving_ ,” Cas says, voice sharp.

“Cas, my Mom literally died when I was _four_ and I’m not exactly over it.”

“Yes, Dean, and because of that your mother will forever be perfect,”

“And you think that’s harder than grieving for someone who’s flawed and a little shitty?” Dean asks, “Not for a second, man. Part of the reason why losing Dad was so crippling was cause there were about fifty things I wanted to scream at the guy and a hundred and fifty I wanted to tell him I’d forgiven him for. Whole thing’s a load of crap, course, cause I’d never have said any of it.”

“Crippling,” Cas repeats.

“You remember what I was like,” Dean says, “Yeah, our relationship was complicated, but your Mom wasn’t exactly an angel, either. She turned it round though. She really did. If Ellen wasn’t so awesome, she’d have run up some pretty decent competition for favourite grandma.” 

“I thought I had dealt with it at the time,”

“I didn’t,” Dean says, “then I dropped the ball.”

“You do often see through me,”

“Right now, feels like neither of us see each other at all,” Dean says, swallowing, “But I did… notice. I mean, I told Sam and everything, I just…” Cas’ lips quirk in a way that’s entirely involuntary and entirely honest, and it makes Dean completely lose the end of his sentence. Cas notices, too, and retreats into himself. “That was the second thought. Sam. He reckons you’re avoiding him.”

“That would be… ambitious,” 

“That pretty much just answered my next six questions.”

“Dean,” 

“I’m not mad,” Dean says, “Okay, that’s a lie. I’m mad. But I just wanna _understand,_ Cas.”

“I don’t know what’s _wrong_ , Dean. I don’t know _how _to make you understand,”__

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Dean says, “What’s your problem with Sam?”

“I don’t _have_ a problem with Sam.”

“It’d be more convincing if you weren’t clenching your jaw so tight,”

“Dean, this is not a good time to discuss this.”

“Why?”

“Would you like the reasons alphabetised or weighted by importance? Either way I would like to start with _anniversary_ and follow it swiftly with _cancer_.”

“You’d weight our anniversary more, really?”

“No, obviously I wouldn’t,” Cas says, “You’re being facetious. The point is whilst I appreciate the sentiment and the reasons why you bought it up, I do not want to talk about my mother.”

“But, Cas, you… you were starting to open up. Okay? You were. We nearly got somewhere until I fucked it up.”

“It’s late,” Cas says, reaching for the light switch and plunging them both into darkness. He folds himself around Dean, though, so deliberately and purposefully that Dean can’t be bothered to argue. It probably is a bad time. He’s got enough to think about without adding in extras, even if Dean can’t exactly help it; he has every damn thing that Cas has said to him for months running over and over in his head, as if the fact that he suddenly has fucking _prostate cancer_ is enough to knock the stubborn ignorance loose in his head. That, or it’s just a coping mechanism and his brain’s dashing around trying to think about anything else, because Dean doesn’t have a damn clue how to feel.

Mostly, he’s worried about Cas. He’s worried that this is going to be the thing that breaks him and that will be Dean’s fault, because instead of dealing with the blows as they came, he’s let them pile up into this massive _weight_ , until it’s crushing the guy. Until Cas is unhappy. 

“Love you too, Cas,” Dean says into the dark, when he’s run over the conversation in his head enough times with the express purpose of torturing himself about bringing the Sam thing up, to realise that he didn’t say it before. Cas doesn’t so much as sigh, though, and his breathing’s levelled out, so Dean figures the guy’s already fallen asleep.

*

Of all the ways that Cas has woken him up over the years, Cas reaching over him to slam off his alarm and accidentally punching him in the face is one of the least pleasant. For some unknown reason that's probably to do with the nearly two bottles of wine they consumed last night, Dean's sleeping on the wrong side of the bed, and apparently it's thrown Cas off about the same amount that it's thrown Dean off. "What?" Cas asks, squinting at Dean like he's the one who's done something wrong, till his brain kicks in enough that he lunges over Dean to kill the alarm.

"Hey," Dean says, using their proximity as an excuse lock his arms around Cas' back and roll them over, pulling the duvet with them.

"I'm too hungover for this," Cas mutters, blinking at him.

"You sure the optician said you don't need glasses?"

"Yes,"

"Cause I think you'd look cute,"

"Are we going to talk about yesterday?"

"You really wanna talk it before you go to work?"

"When will you find out more?"

"Got another appointment and we'll talk about treatment options. You gotta come with me, keep me thinking straight. You down?"

"Of course,"

"I have an appointment card or something, whatever. I'll get it to you. It'll be in work hours, though."

"That won't be a problem,"

"Zach finally been given some meds which make a decent human being?"

"He's due to retire, so his opinion on the matter has no consequence."

"You didn't tell me that. Awesome. Guess your life's about to get six times better."

"Is it?" Cas asks, "Will you let me out of bed?"

Dean lets go and winces when Cas sits up, letting the cold air of the room under the covers. Plus, Cas was sixty percent of what was keeping him warm, and he seems grumpy enough that he’s taking most of the warmth of Dean’s morning with him anyway. Cas flicks the light on and frowns at their room. 

"Isn't it? The guy’s a raging dickbag who's been making your life hard since you were twenty two."

"He's also persistently promoted me,"

"What is this, Stockholm syndrome?" Dean asks, as Cas scowls at the light like he isn’t the reason it’s on.

"I don't want to go to work today," 

"Call in sick," Dean says, "We could probably use some time," 

"Later," Cas says, "I feel significantly hungover."

"We're definitely losing it, buddy. Reckon Claire could drink more than us at this point. We're officially middle aged." 

"I'm going to shower," Cas says, still distracted.

“Enjoy yourself,” Dean says, pulling the covers back over himself and hiding his face in the pillow. He doesn’t feel especially like he drank a bottle of wine last night (which he definitely can’t do without consequences anymore; hell, Dean would kill to still have his twenty year old self’s ability to drink alcohol, or even his thirty year old self), but then he’d say Cas probably drank more out of the two of them. Dean was keeping an eye on it.

Considering all the bullshit that's going on, he's in a pretty good mood. A good enough mood to peel himself off his pillow, get up whilst Cas is still in the shower and actually cook breakfast, not only because Cas is miserable enough right now that he'd probably appreciate the gesture, but also because he actually wants to. He just wants to do something nice for Cas and the fact that that feels like a novel idea has Dean thinking that maybe Cas isn't the only one who's been working on automatic for a while. Maybe Cas is locked in his head thinking exactly the same things Dean's been thinking; maybe Cas thinks that Dean is working at this whole relationship a lot more than he's feeling it right now, that Dean’s busy doing 'the right thing' just to make his life easier. Dean just might be guilty of that, too. He hasn't exactly been a great husband, either.

"I'm unsure it's sanitary to cook that naked," Cas says, appearing in the kitchen, suited, booted and looking no happier. He _looks_ hungover and pale and Dean definitely shouldn’t have pushed last night, if Cas was drunk enough to feel this bad in the morning. He didn’t _seem_ drunk, though. 

"I'm wearing an apron,"

"I'm not an expert,” Cas says, sitting down, "But in my understanding, you are supposed to additionally wear clothes under the apron."

"Everyone's a critic," Dean says, "French toast and coffee."

"Thank you,"

"There we go," Dean grins, "A little thanks. That wasn't so hard,"

"You're an imbecile,"

"Thanks, darling," Dean grins, "So, I had a great time last night, which is pretty remarkable,"

"Remarkable because you found out you have prostate cancer or remarkable because of the current state of our marriage?"

"Keeping it light," Dean nods, "Nice." 

"My head hurts,"

"We should reinforce date night," Dean says, "Make some kind of list of shit we're going to do. Go out. Dinner and movie type crap. Bucket list of dates. Could go frigging bowling again. There’s that theatre crap thing you were salivating over. I won’t _enjoy_ it, but you could probably bribe me with ice cream and oral sex. Cas. Are you even listening to me?" 

"Hmm?"

"Fucking perfect,"

"I was thinking about work,"

"Even better," Dean says, squaring his shoulders, "I'm trying to have a moment with you over here,"

"I apologise that I don’t think the fact we spent time together following you learning you have a serious illness much cause to celebrate,”

"You wanna do something to celebrate tonight?”

“No,” Cas says, but it’s not a particular harsh _no_ , it’s just honest. Dean’s not exactly dead set on celebrating, either. It’s an arbitrary date that does actually mean a lot to him, because they’ve put years of hard work, compromise and hashing out crappy arguments into this thing, and it’s a _special thing_. He doesn’t feel much like celebrating it when they’re arguing every other day and not communicating at all on those other days, though. It would be insincere and it would make him miserable. He’ll wait till they’re back into the green and then take him out and _actively spent quality time together_ or however the crappy therapist worded it.

“Good,” Dean says, “I stuck the appointment card on the fridge,”

“Ah,” Cas says, standing up and drifting toward it, frowning. “Can I read your leaflets?”

“They’re in the fridge,”

“What?”

“I was unpacking the groceries,” Dean says, “Figured handing you a leaflet wasn’t the best way to do that bad news thing. I panicked.” 

“Who is Mildred Baker and why is her number below the shopping list?” Cas asks, still staring at the fridge door. Claire spent a long time recreating the female reproductive system out of the plastic coloured letters before she left and neither of them have moved it, which means his appointment card is now held to the fridge by the ‘O’ of the left ovary. 

“Cancer therapist,” Dean says, “Just in case.”

Cas’ lips thin slightly and he spends the rest of their shared breakfast period reading the leaflet about gay and bisexual men and prostate cancer, whilst Dean eats the breakfast he cooked them both and watches his facial expressions. 

*

Sam’s just got onto the topic of grilling Dean about his little meet-cute with Jake when Cas gets home from work. He does this comic, confused pause in the doorway before he zeroes in on Sam in the living room, freezes, then frowns. 

“Hey Cas,” Sam says, voice light. It’s not the first time in the last few hours since he called Sam and told him to get off work early and come over that Dean’s thought that this was a probably a bad idea, but after his boss basically chucked him out of work after the super fun talk about his apparent health issues (in a caring, take some time to process kind of way), he reread one of the leaflets. The fact that it claims at one in eight men will get it doesn’t make him feel a whole lot better, then he focused in on the _significantly greater risk if an immediately family member, such as a brother or father, has prostate cancer_ and then his head was pounding and he couldn’t think straight. 

Dean hasn’t exactly managed to start that part of the conversation though and getting Sam here was this easy bit.

He wouldn’t have thought it would have been easier to tell Cas then Sam, but it all feels a hell of a lot more real now that he’s had to be all adult about it. Yesterday the only thing he was thinking about was _how to tell Cas_ not the actual consequences this thing might have. Goddamn. 

“Hello, Sam,” Cas returns, then he turns his gaze on Dean, “Can I speak to you in the kitchen for a moment, Dean?” Cas asks, in a way that’s clearly a lead up to Dean getting severely told off, which he just _knows_ that Sam knows by the side look Dean gets from his brother’s direction.

Dean drags his feet the whole way to the kitchen, by which point Cas has shed his coat, rolled up his shirt sleeves and has turned around to _glare_.

"Dean," Cas says, which is apparently all the clue Dean's going to get about why Cas is pissed off enough to drag him to the kitchen to chew him out about it. Dean's betting this is one of the occasions that Dean's supposed to _know_ what he's done wrong before Cas has to tell him, and he probably could work it out (he’s ninety percent sure it’s because Sam is here), but Cas pulling him outside to tell him off makes him look like an idiot in front of Sam and that's irritated him enough that Dean isn't going to play ball. His nerves are shot to hell anyway. The last thing he needs right now is Cas nagging him about something. 

"What?"

"Given what we discussed last night regarding your brother," Cas hisses, low, "I find it _surprising_ that you did not forewarn me he would be here,"

"I called you like three times. You didn't pick up,"

"You could have text me,"

"You could've picked up your damn phone,"

"I was at work,"

"And frankly I didn't realise I had to ask your fucking permission to see my brother,"

"You _asked_ whether I had an issue with -"

"Cas, he is _literally_ here so I can tell him that hey, I have prostate cancer which, guess what, means he's like sixty percent more likely to get it too, _so better get yourself checked out, Sammy just in case you already have it_."

"Could you have waited?"

"Waited? Cas, are you _hearing_ yourself here - ?”

"This morning you suggested I take the morning off work to give _us_ time to process this – "

"Which you didn't want," Dean interjects.

"And I'm unclear how we jumped from that to not having time to process it this evening, either,"

"Oh you process away, Cas," Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Meanwhile I'm going to go right on ahead and speak to my little brother,”

“Why ask me about Sam if -?”

“Because last night I was thinking about my marriage and today I'm thinking about my shitty new health problems,”

“Are you incapable of thinking about both at the same time?” 

“Right now, yes,” Dean snaps, “because this is brand spanking new information. Will you cut me some goddamn slack? Fucking hell, Cas.”

For some reason, those are the magic words that snap Cas back into actually being a reasonable human being. Dean can _see_ the moment Cas registers exactly what he’s been demanding and everything hits him all over again. Cas is taking this hard which, yeah, Dean expected. He did. He _meant_ to give them another few days before talking to people about this, but he already had to hash this out with his boss because… because this is probably going to have consequences, and if Sam… if Sam could be ill _too_ then… Dean couldn’t sit on it to wait for Cas to deal. He just couldn’t. 

“Yes,” Cas says, blinking, “Sorry.” 

“Forget it,” Dean says, and he means it, “Forget _that_. Just…I asked if you wanted to do something tonight for our anniversary, and you said no, and now you’re -”

“That doesn't mean I didn't want to see you at all,” 

“I'm right here. You're seeing me _right now_.”

“Um, hey,” Sam says, “I could go? I didn't know it was your anniversary.”

“Right, drop me in it. Thanks Sam. Stay classy.”

“Look, I don't want to –” Sam begins.

“You wanna stay for dinner Sammy? Awesome. I'll cook for three.” Dean asks, speaking loudly over him, which wins him an eye roll _and_ an arm cross, which means Dean’s successfully managed to unlock level four pissed-off-Castiel and the guy’s only been home for five damn minutes.

“Actually –”

“- _must_ you act so ...?” Cas says, still leaning against the kitchen counter, looking as prissy as ever.

“Probably,” Dean cuts across, “Who wants nachos?”

“Dean,” 

“Look, buddy, I don't care what crawled up your ass, we're sitting down for dinner and we are talking about this. Sam, how much of that did you hear?”

“Um. I just came in at anniversary.” Sam says, looking about as uncomfortable as Dean’s ever seen him. To be fair to him, Sam has actually never witnessed a full scale Winchester-Novak marital dispute; he’s seen them _bicker_ , he’s heard about them arguing, but he’s never actually been stood in the kitchen whilst Dean and Cas snap at each over absolutely nothing.

“Awesome. Sit down. We need to talk. Who wants a beer?”

“I'm driving,” Sam says, glancing between them. 

“Coffee,” Dean says, “Get to it, Cas.”

“Is everything... okay?” Sam asks.

“Yes,” Dean says, at the exact time Cas says, “No.” 

"Okay," Sam nods.

"It's fine," Dean says.

"It's not _fine_ ," Cas says, aggressively prodding at the coffee machine, "It's not working."

"You're doing it wrong," Dean says, "Just, sit."

"I don't take your orders," 

"Think of it as a pointed requested," Dean snaps, "And _please_ for the love of God, can we dial this conversation back down to a point where not _everything_ is a goddamn grenade?"

"Fine,"

"Castiel, do you want a drink?" Dean says, rearranging his voice into _polite_.

"Coffee," Cas says, then, "Please."

"Okay," Dean says, flicking the button Cas had been prodding at, which is the point where some compartment in the coffee machine falls off in his hand. Dean tries to catch it, but there’s already water seeping all over the kitchen counter, and all over _Dean_. "Sonuvabitch,"

"I told you it wasn't working," Cas says, mild enough that suddenly everything is fucking hilarious. One look tells him that Cas is there too, because the corners of his frown are soft and amused, and then he meets Dean's eye and smiles. Sam is completely baffled, clearly, but Dean's steadily getting wetter and _laughing_ and then Cas is up and grabbing a dishcloth to mop it up, beaming at him. They’re being petty, immature douchebags to each other for the sake of it, but now the tension’s broken and it’s just _funny_.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters.

"I'll get you a new shirt," Cas says, whilst Dean fumbles with the damn coffee machine to get it back attached. 

"Thanks," Dean grins, making a point to pull the guy in for a kiss.

"Dean, you're wet,"

"Exactly," Dean grins, wiping his wet hands on Cas’ shirt before Cas can back off. Cas rolls his eyes, smiles, then he’s off up the stairs.

"Dean," Sam says, after a few moments of silence, "What was that?"

"Come on, that was hilarious."

"No, before that," Sam says.

"Oh," Dean says, "I said things were kind of... well. That's not what I wanna talk about." 

"But, Dean -”

“- no, Sammy. We're working it out and I'm pretty sure that you being bought into that isn't gonna help."

"You're pushing me out?"

"Bingo," Dean says, "trust me to deal with this, Sam. I know what I'm doing." 

"That didn't look like that -"

"Sam, you are my brother and I would move mountains for you but, hear me; my marriage, my business,"

"Okay," Sam says, raising his hands in surrender, "I hear you,"

"Your shirt," Cas says, passing him a new one, and taking over the coffee making business. Dean pulls his wet shirt off and pulls on the t-shirt, just as the Coffee machine makes a strange crunching sound. Cas withdraws and stares at it alarm.

"Who wants instant coffee?" Dean suggests.

Cas smiles again and wraps his arm around Dean's neck, pulling him into a hug. Dean's eyes flicker shut of their own accord, because this is how they're _supposed to be_ and every time things slip back into normalcy it feels like he actually understands the world. He's not doubting himself right down to his core.

Also, Cas definitely heard and appreciated what he said to Sam, which is probably makes it worth it. He doesn’t want to talk to Sam about, anyway, but he probably wouldn’t have taken such a hard line if it wasn’t clearly a problem for Cas.

Sam clears his throat.

“Maybe I should go. It is your anniversary....”

“No,” Cas says, taking a step back, “Dean's right. He needs to talk to you. I might...”

“Stay, Cas,”

“I would have thought this is a conversation you would like to have with Sam alone.”

“I need you, man,” Dean says, “You're my happy place, remember?”

“I'm not sure I can,” Cas says, voice pained and vulnerable. That’s fair, actually, which just makes Dean feel crappy for not being able to accept it. He _needs_ Cas’ support right now, whether Cas feels like he’s got it in him or not. He didn’t manage to say any of it before Cas got home and he’s sure he’ll just carry on talking about Jake and Emma for another hour if he doesn’t have the gentle pressure of Cas sat there, knowing what needs to be said too.

“Please?”

“Okay, Dean,” Cas says, expression softening.

“What's going on?” Sam asks, on edge now. Sam’s been dealt enough bad news in his lifetime to know when it’s coming. You get the instinct for it, after a while.

“Coffee first,” Dean says, “Then we talk.”

*

It’s been approximately twenty years since Dean drank whiskey straight from the bottle, but half an hour after Sam’s left to go pick Mary and Rob up from their after afterschool-club clubs (Sam’s children are strange. Dean loves them both completely, but he’s pretty sure they’re freaks of nature), Dean’s sat on the foot of the stairs a fair way through one of the bottles of the good stuff Bobby bought him one Christmas. He’d forgotten how damn _good_ self-destructing felt. He’d also forgotten how _good_ whiskey tasted when everything else was going to hell. He’d definitely forgotten how easy and right it felt to have the stuff burning at the back of this throat, shoulders bunched up, purposefully not thinking.

“Dean,”

“Hmm, oh. Hey, Cas,”

“Claire’s on the phone,”

“Damnit,” Dean says, looking up, putting down the bottle of whiskey. The word ‘Claire’ is a little bit like having a bucket of ice cold reality tipped over his head, because Dean has _responsibilities_ , people are depending on him and theoretically looking up to him. Neither Claire nor Emma have seen him properly fucked up, ever, and they’re not _supposed_ to. He feels pretty shitty about letting Cas down, too, but Cas is used to it. He let Cas down about a hundred times over before they were even in a relationship, but he swore that things would change when Emma and Claire came into the picture. They weren’t going to have some screwed up, occasionally alcohol-dependent, shitty messed up father figure. “Damnit. _Damnit_. Ah, fuck, Cas, what am I -?” 

Cas has got his hand covered over the speaker of the phone and looks that familiar mixture of weary and determined. He’s not mad. He doesn’t even look _disappointed_ which Dean’s pretty sure he should be. Dean’s worked damned hard at being together and functional for half his life and to fuck it all up because he’s having a bad day, with bad news and hard conversations is such bullshit. Dean’s so _ashamed_.

“Shush,” Cas says, sitting down on the step above him, “I’ll put her on speaker. I’d advise talking as little as possible unless you wish to explain why you’re inebriated.”

“Awesome,” Dean mutters, resting his head on Cas’ hip, as Cas runs a hand over his forehead.

“Hello, Claire,”

“Heeey,” Claire says, “What’s up, Dads? Happy anniversary.”

“What, did you set a phone reminder or something?” Dean asks, “Come on, who cares about this?”

“Dad, for one,” Claire says, “You sound like you’ve been celebrating.”

“No comment,” Dean says, running a hand over his forehead. Holy hell, Dean’s awful. He is the worst. He has such a wonderful family and Dean repays them by purposefully drinking to deal, like the _screw up_ he’s always been.

Cas’ fingers are skating over the back of Dean’s neck, gentle and pointed. Cas isn’t mad at him. Cas is not mad at him.

“So, thanksgiving,”

“A traditional American celebration of dubious moral origins which is due to take place next Thursday,” Castiel supplies.

“We get a day off work, spoilsport,” Dean says, which has Cas carefully move the whiskey bottle further away and run a hand across his forehead again.

“And I’m coming home,”

“Right, we get our beautiful bright baby daughter back,”

“Wow, tone it down, asshat,” Claire says, “I’m driving down on Wednesday.”

“Come earlier,” Dean says, “Come Tuesday,”

“I have classes?”

“Skip em,”

“You know Dad can hear you right, Padre?”

“On this occasion, I agree with your father,” Cas says.

“Wait, what?” Claire asks, “Why?”

“We need to talk to you,”

“Sounds ominous,”

“Nothing to worry about,” Castiel says.

“Right,” Claire says, and Dean can hear the eye roll. That must be something she got from Cas. “So what did you think of Jake?”

“He’s… nice,” Dean says, because he was _nice_. The whole experience was strange. This _Jake_ shook his hand and called him ‘Mr Winchester’ and complimented his food with actual well thought of adjectives. Usually, Dean gets Claire and Emma complimenting him through the medium of insults and if _Cas_ likes his food he gets the pornstar sound effects and Cas damn near nearly dirty talking his burger (“this makes me very happy”). Jake told him it was ‘delicious’, asked for the recipe and then inquired about their jobs. It threw him off completely and as much as Emma’s giddy happiness was difficult for him not to latch on to, Dean couldn’t help thinking that he just didn’t _fit_. Cas liked him. Cas was all smiles after he left on Sunday night.

“Boring as fuck, right?” Claire says, “She video called me with him earlier ‘cause it’s family night. He’s like… so churchy and respectable and _safe_.”

“I imagine that’s what Emma likes about him,” Cas says, running a hand over Dean’s knee.

“Well yeah,” Claire says, “But Emma needs someone to challenge her. Push her out of her comfort zone. She’s never going to break out of her anally retentive, routine-is-everything, hyper-sensitive shtick if she winds up with someone who indulges her in it. I wanted him to be a motorbike riding, inked smoker with Mummy issues.”

“That’s a very vivid image,”

“I thought about it a lot,” Claire says, “She gave us a lot of time to think about it for her. Hey, is Emma coming to Lawrence on the Tuesday too?”

“We’ll ask her to,” Cas says, “Claire, can we call you tomorrow? Me and your father have some things to discuss.” 

“Nice,” Claire says, “I get it. You want to carry on celebrating with us out the way. Rushing me off the phone. Your youngest daughter. Your baby...”

“We will call you tomorrow,” Cas says, firm, “Have a good Thursday Evening.”

“Be good, Claire-bear,”

“Copy that,” Claire says, “Bye.”

The silence Claire leaves after she’s hung up is deafening. Dean makes a move away from Cas’ physical touch because he doesn’t deserve it, instead settling on resting his head in his hands. Dean’s an asshole and he doesn’t know how we went from _fine_ to absolutely not fine and unable to deal in the space of half an hour. He was okay when Sam left. He was dealing.

“Today was a very bad day,”

“Worst anniversary yet?”

“Bold claim,” Cas says, “But I would say so,”

“M’sorry,”

“I am entirely sure this is my fault,” Cas says, “This is… difficult news. I shouldn’t have left you alone to deal with it but I was…” 

“Too busy avoiding my brother?”

“Yes,” Cas says, “I thought you might tell me when he left.”

“Well, I didn’t,”

“It was selfish of me,”

“You stuck it out for the hard bit of the conversation,” Dean says, sighing, “Neither of us are exactly handling this, Cas, it’s fine,” Dean says, not looking at him, “I’m just…damnit, I didn’t see _this_ happening.”

“No,” Cas agrees, “Earlier…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says, “We can call today a complete write off. It never happened, okay?”

“That sounds excellent,” Cas says, smiling. It’s not one of Cas’ nice smiles, but it’s a smile nevertheless. “Do you…” Cas begins, then stops, breathes, “Shall we just go to bed?”

“Only if you carry my sorry ass up there,”

“I can attempt it,”

“You’ll break yourself,” Dean says, standing up, offering a hand to Cas to help him up too. Cas stands too. “Let’s go hide from our problems, hubby dearest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a side note, their 35th anniversary makes it their 12775th night, so the beginning of this story was... 12761st night (unless I've lost a week. I haven't opened my timeline doc so I'm probably wrong), but that didn't seem like it would be as catchy of a title. Do forgive my inaccuracies. 
> 
> Also, sorry for this chapter. This was my plan all along, then I was doubting myself, because I feel like we haven't reached anything like a resolution for anything yet. Soon, though! Ish.


	5. Chapter 5

Cas doesn’t want to visit Bobby. Probably not for any other reason than that they haven’t spent any real time together (other than Wednesday evening) for what feels like forever, but that’s their own damn fault. It’s not ideal that it took him getting fucking _cancer_ for them to pull their heads out of their asses, but that’s nothing to do with scheduled visit to Sioux Falls, which Dean already postponed once because it was in the peak of his feeling of shittiness. He can still feel all of _that _pushing in from all sides and, damnit, it still feels weird that Claire isn’t there when he gets home. He’s been taking his anti-depressants and he has been feeling a little less deadened, but he’s pretty sure that isn’t their current problem. He’s gonna keep taking them, anyway, just for the sake of ruling it out. Still, Dean’s pretty the real reason for how _awful_ he feels today is an eclectic mix of being hungover and full of shame from his drinking straight whiskey routine, the emotional weight that is this whole cancer deal and the fact that fact he somehow managed to fit in two full blown arguments with Cas before he went to work. Any hope he’d had that the flipside of this crappy cancer hand could be that his marriage got back on track had been fully shot to hell by ten past eight this morning, which he probably should have known would happen. Now, he misses his kids, he misses having a proper relationship with his husband rather than this dumb farce, and he’s got this extra kick in the ass too that is cancer too. __

__Cas isn’t going to go all out and say that he doesn’t want to visit Bobby because he’s aware that that’s selfish and shitty and because, either way, they’re going to Bobby’s this weekend. So the result is that Cas is doing the adult-equivalent of dragging his heels. He’s late getting home from work (later than he was supposed to, anyway, even if it’s still earlier than usual) then spends a fucking _age_ packing a bag. They were supposed to be doing it yesterday before everything came up with Sam, then setting off as soon as possible Friday evening. The rate they’re going there gonna be checking into a motel before they reach South Dakota. __

__

“Cas, come on.” 

“Five minutes,” 

“You said that twenty minutes ago,” 

“Dean,” 

He can’t even be pissed at him, because he’d known from second the Cas woke him up this morning to spoon that he’s completely and profoundly unhappy right now. It didn’t stop them yelling at each other over the lack of breakfast groceries, mind, but it feels disingenuous to be anything other than quietly frustrated. 

“I’m ready,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, and he’s just about to go in for a hug, or a kiss, or some physical sign that he’s _aware_ that Cas would rather they blew this off and spent the whole weekend working this out, but Cas catches his eye than steps out of reaching distance. Cas is physically avoiding him now, which is just the cherry on top of what’s been another completely shitty day. God _damn_ , but Dean thought they were better than this. “You wanna take the first leg?” 

“You’re letting me drive?” 

“If you want,” Dean shrugs, chucking the keys in Cas’ direction. Cas snatches them out of the air and gets in the car whilst Dean loads up the trunk. It’s _not_ ideal that this weekend happens to coincides with the scribbled ‘Visit Bobby’ in the calendar on the fridge, because they’ve had a _lot_ to deal with. Dean’s not really sure how, but it feels like they haven’t found any time to spend together for weeks, but he reckons it’s probably because they haven’t been trying. Cas ducked out of family night one week. Next time Dean had to break the news Sam. Date night just hasn’t happened and Cas didn’t even frigging listen to Dean suggesting it being reinstated. It’s just pretty remarkable that they can be the only two people in the house and still manage not to see each other. 

He can totally see where Cas is coming from. It’s just… it’s not good for Cas to be at Bobby’s right now, but Dean’s not sure whether it’s good for Cas to see Dean right now, either. He only ever seems to make things worse. 

Cas is just about to put the impala in reverse when Dean leans over to cut the engine. 

"I thought you said I could drive," Cas says, turning to frown at him. 

"Yeah," Dean says, "Yeah, I just... Maybe you should stay here." 

"Stay?" 

"You don't wanna visit Bobby, Cas, and maybe we could use some space," 

"You said we needed to visit him more," 

"He's in his eighties, he's in a wheelchair and he's been talking about croaking it since he turned seventy. I'm going to see Bobby. You don't have to." 

"I care about Bobby," Cas says, blue gaze squinting at him. Dean really needs to send him back to the opticians, because he’s ninety percent sure Cas is just being stubborn about the glasses thing. Yeah, Cas has always been a little… squinty, but its different now. It’s worse. 

"I wasn't questioning it. Just... Cas, this has been a helluva week. Month. Maybe you should stay here." 

"You don't want me to come?" Cas deadpans, corners of his lips hardening slightly. Dean can already feel argument number three hanging in the air and, goddamnit, that is not what he’d been aiming for with this. He’s so frigging tired of butting heads all the damn time. He doesn’t even know what they’ve been fighting about all day, it’s just… endless and painful and exhausting. It makes him feel like he’s fifty five and most definitely past his prime. 

"Quit putting words in my mouth," 

"I want to visit Bobby," 

"Okay," Dean says, "Well, maybe I should stay there an extra night. Or I should spend a couple of days at Sam's when we get back. Or, after Thanksgiving. Maybe some time apart would help." 

"Time apart," Cas repeats. 

"We can't argue if we're not up in each other’s space all the time," 

"What you're talking about is _separating_." 

"Temporarily." 

"And what if it's easier to be apart?" Cas asks, voice sharp. "Which I expect it would be, Dean, given that it involves significantly less effort." 

"Cas, none of this is easy right now." 

"What if you're _happier_ at Sam's?" 

"This ain't about my happiness." 

"What if _I'm_ happier staying at home whilst you're at Bobby's?" 

"You know the answer to that question, Cas." 

"Say it, " 

"No," 

"You're the one _suggesting this_ , Dean – ” 

“I’m not suggesting anything,” Dean cuts across, “You asked me a question that’s there’s only one logical answer to, Cas. I’m not –“ 

“– You could at least be honest about it. You're not talking about ‘temporary’ you're talking about a _‘trial’_." 

Dean’s jaw clenches. 

"You think I want this?" Dean asks, “You think that’s what I _want_ , Cas?” 

"I won't do it. I won't,” Cas says, heated and passionate and _upset_ and, damnit, Dean’s pushed him too far again. That’s not what he meant. That’s not even close to what he meant, but now Cas is freaking out. Dean’s been panicking since he woke up one day and realised that he’d been putting more effort into avoiding arguments with Cas than he he’d been putting into the rest of their relationship, but Cas has been remarkably slow on the update that this stuff is _serious_ and that they’re in real danger zones, here. Dean’s been actually scared for some time. Apparently, Cas is catching up, slowly and now all at once. 

"Okay, man, I’ll…” 

"I _will not_ have it, Dean," 

"Cas," Dean says, voice hoarse for no good reason, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I won't suggest it again. I didn't mean it like that. I just... I'm just trying fix shit, okay?" 

"Dean, it's not broken," Cas says and, holy shit, the guy’s properly freaking out. He's shaking. He's bleeding emotions out all over the place. Then Dean's just _silent_ because he hasn't got a damn clue what to do, except travel back in time and swallow those words before they came out of his mouth, because when Cas gets vulnerable and emotional like this Dean feels like someone’s started blowing up his foundations. Nothing makes _sense_. His whole life doesn’t make sense when Cas is _upset_. "Perhaps you should take the first leg," Cas says, voice forcefully level. 

"Good plan," Dean says, as Cas throws open the door to change sides of the car. He looks a little more put together when he gets back in, but Dean still pulls him into a hug anyway. Cas clings to him for a full minute before he eventually lets go and, if possible, Dean feels guiltier than he did after pulling the drinking routine last night. 

* 

They’ve had a lot of time to build up a list of shitty car journeys, from that stiflingly awkward trip to drop Sam off at Kansas City airport after Sam walked in on Cas going down on him (in the sense that Sam probably didn’t have a whole lot of experience of being, as far as Dean’s aware, not all that experienced in anal sex), to the drive home after the adoption with Amara fell through. They’ve done anger, embarrassment and just plain old sad car journeys, but the first two hours of the journey to Sioux Falls is possibly the quietest of the lot of them. Cas hasn’t spoken. Dean keeps glancing over to check if he’s asleep, but the guy’s sat staring out the front window, face impassive. He hasn’t fucking moved since they made it out of Lawrence, except to turn the radio off after Dean turned it on when the thirty minutes of silence got too much for him. Dean didn’t attempt it again. He hasn’t attempted conversation, either, because this is definitely one of those _waiting-Cas-out_ times. 

It comes two and half long hours into the journey. 

“I don't have an actual problem with your brother,” Cas says. Dean’s hyperaware enough of Cas’ everything that he’d kind of noticed the guy tensing up slightly, the hard line of his lower lip smacking of resolve, so he’d figured he was working his way up to saying _something_. He hadn’t anticipated they’d be jumping straight over to Sam, though, which probably means that the Sam-thing is a helluva bigger problem than Dean figured. For Cas to bring it up right after their last conversation is…. Bad. It’s bad news. 

Dean drags his gaze back to the road. 

“Okay,” 

“I... I'm being selfish and petty, which I'm fully aware, but I can't seem to stop,” 

“Okay,” 

“I miss Jess,” Cas says, which... which Dean's not actually expecting. Dean misses Jess, too. There's this hole in their get togethers where nothings quite square, where all their interactions became lopsided. Mostly, though, he misses Jess for Sam's sake. He thought she was fucking awesome, course, but... she was his sister in law, half way across America. They couldn't quite classify as close. He misses the spaces in Sam's life that Jess filled. He misses Sam having someone to raise his kids with. He misses Sam coming home to someone. And some days he feels so damn bad about it, because life was so much easier back then; Dean picked up some of the slack after, and so did Cas, and so did Emma and Claire, really. That's how families are supposed to work, but sometimes Dean gets selfish and he gets into this hole of missing Jess just because being there for Sam is so damn hard, not cause Jess wore cutesy Smurf t-shirts, was whip smart, funny, didn’t put up with Sam’s crap, and was messier than Dean or Cas have ever been. 

Cas was closer to Jess. It just panned out that way. He'd be catching up with Sam, so Cas would gravitated to Jess. Cas took the Jess thing pretty hard. They all did. He _knew_ that Cas was layering on the coping pretty thick, trying to keep it together for the others. Jess was Sam and Mary and Robbie's to grieve. They were there for them. Then the year came rolling round and Sam was up and moving to Lawrence, and it was a little like they lost her again. Her absence was all the more pronounced and, yeah, Dean still misses her now… but he doesn’t think about it as much as he used to. 

“She was something,” Dean says out loud, hands clutching the wheel. “I know she kind of made the Winchester co-dependency shtick a little easier to swallow,” 

“Your dedication to your brother was one of the first things I loved about you,” 

“But?” Dean prompts. First year of their relationship, Dean was half-convinced that it was his Sam-issues that was going to bring the whole thing tumbling down, and then it turned out to be a fun mix of his Dad-issues, Sam-issues and just plain old Dean-issues that nearly fucked them over. He _knows_ that Cas has put up with a lot. He _knows_ that Cas’ patience with all of that was probably reason enough to marry the guy alone, because for the longest time Dean had this fear that he’d never be able to put Cas first like the guy deserved. Then, one day he woke up and realised that he’d pretty much been doing that for years, and that that was okay, and that that was _healthy_ ; he skipped the breakdown he’d always assumed he’d have the day he realised Sam wasn’t quite his whole world anymore and moved on. Then came Emma and Claire. By then, Sam had Jess and was scrubbing together a family of his own and Dean was actually _happy_ that Sam had spread his wings, even if the California thing sucked. Then everything came crashing down around their ears again. Losing Jess was rough. 

“Dean,” 

“Cas,” Dean exhales, “Look, Sam... yeah. Sensitive topic. Always has been. But I'm not gonna throw over your feelings just cause you push at it. Pretty sure you thinking we have this extra special untouchable relationship ain't helping us.” 

“You are... touchy.” 

“Don't mean you shouldn't touch,” Dean says, catching Cas’ eye in the front view mirror, “Enough with the eyebrows, dude, you know what I mean. If you turned round tomorrow and told me you never wanted to be in the same room as Sam again, yeah, I'd be kinda pissed and the balancing act would be profoundly shitty, but it's not... Sam isn't more important than you.” 

“I know,” Cas says, “Logically. This is my issue,” 

“Well it’s affecting all three of us,” Dean says, “So you don’t get to box it off like that. Man, I don’t care if it’s selfish or petty, if you’re feeling it then you’re feeling it. Hell, if I don’t know what’s going on in your head, we’re just gonna have a repeat of yesterday again.” 

“I appreciated you telling him to stay out,” 

“I know,” Dean says, “Don’t want him involved, anyway. Guy’s got enough to deal with.” 

“Jess died three years ago,” Cas says, which is pretty damn harsh for a guy who was talking about how much he missed her five minutes ago. Dean’s eyebrows rise of their own accord, which gets Cas exhaling and looking away. “Since then, you think Sam needs you more than I do.” 

“Cas,” 

“Which might have been true, in the weeks after Sam moved here, but he is resilient, Dean. He suffered a great loss, of course, but Sam is independent,” 

“He needs me, Cas,” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “He does. You like to be needed.” 

“I do, huh?” 

“You said it yourself, Dean. That perhaps me not needing you was our problem,” Cas says, which… yes, Dean said. He _did_ feel like that, which is complete crap. Every single conversation they’ve had since then seems to be revealing more and more stuff that Cas needed him for, that Dean just missed. Jess. Sam moving here. His Mom. Goddamnit. 

“Didn't mean that I get off on it or anything,” 

“Given we're half talking about your brother, I can assure you that's not what I meant, as that would be both illegal and disturbing. I've been thinking about it, after what you said that evening.” 

“It was a dumb throw away remark, Cas, it's not worth dissecting to death,” 

“I like holding onto the things you say to me,” 

“I say some pretty shitty things,” 

“That's a separate conversation topic,” Cas says, which feels a little bit like a stab wound. 

“Nice,” 

“Dean I'm trying to talk, which you're adamant you want me to do, but now you're shutting me down,” Cas says, which is also completely true. Damnit. In his head, he’s skipping to blaming himself for everything already, but that doesn’t _help_. Cas deserves more than Dean getting too stuck in his own mind to actually hash out their problems. 

Dean tightens his grip on the steering wheel. 

“Sorry. Okay. I'm listening.” 

“You think Sam needs you more than I do and you... Dean, you are loyal and good and you have a saviour complex. You want to be needed. Sometimes I think you're trying to prove the worth of your existence, which is ridiculous, but... it's part of the reason I believe you and Emma have such a profound bond.” 

“Dude, you once used that phrase to describe us,” 

“It still applies, and shush, Dean. Not to diminish your relationship with Claire, but I think you'd agree that you are closer to Emma, whilst I am closer to Claire.” 

“Which is kinda whack, given Emma's a helluva lot more like you, and sometimes I'm damn sure Claire inherited some Winchester genes.” 

“Emma has always been needier,” 

“Not any more, huh?” 

“You like to be needed.” 

“Okay, I'll bite. That seems fair.” 

“Sam moved here because he missed you and because there was very little for him in California, and you obviously put a great deal of work into ensuring he settled in well. Sam probably did need you more at that time.” 

“So I spent less time with you,” 

“Dean, I didn’t mind,” Cas says, “It was good for you and it was good for Sam, but… Sam has been here for nearly two years, Dean, and… I don’t know. I feel as though now Sam is just down the road, you don’t want to spend time with me anymore. I’m _glad_ Sam is here, but I am _not_ your back up plan for when Sam is busy. If you _wanted_ to spend time with me on Halloween you wouldn’t have merely attempted to fit me in after catching up with your brother. I find it highly irritating that you got on your high horse about the sanctity of family night when _you_ disappeared first for a so called emergency,” 

“He had a date,” 

“Sam Winchester is an adult man in his fifties,” Cas says, “An adult man in his fifties who has his own friends, his own family and his own life. I want you to spend time with him, Dean, I just… when I see him, I miss Jess and I get angry with you, but I’m not _allowed_ to be angry at you, because you’re just being a good brother. You’re being loyal and _good_ and I’m being selfish. It’s significantly easier to project that onto Sam, although it’s perhaps more unfair. I resent him for depending on you again, when I can’t _imagine_ how I would feel if…” 

“You don’t need to imagine,” 

“When Jess was _dying_ ,” Cas says, “I was terrified of losing you to your brother’s grief. She was in her forties, with two young children and terminal cancer and I was scared about _you_ , Dean, I am… despicable. I _adored_ her and I… when we visited during her final bought of chemotherapy, after she knew it was merely a delaying tactic, I spoke to her about this. About my fears. She was remarkable, Dean, and she _died_ and now you… you’re sick and I’m still _selfish_ and petty and I am terrified that I might… I might… What are you doing?” 

“Pulling over and getting some coffee,” Dean says, glancing over to him. Cas is voice is shaking, deep and makes Dean ache down to his bones, because Cas is _upset_ and emotional and it’s… it’s crap. Its crap that this has been going on and Dean hasn’t known about it. “I could use some coffee,” 

“Bobby's,” 

“Cas. You're crying. You know how many times I've seen you cry? Three times. And that includes that time you stood on a nail and it went through some nerve in your foot.” 

“We're going to get there very late,” 

“Don't care about that,” Dean says, pulling into a parking space. He glances over to Cas, who's stopped shaking, but only cause his fists are clenched. There are actual tears too, which... _damn_. "It kills me to say this, but maybe baby ain't the best place for this,” 

“You astound me,” Cas says, but his voice cracks. _damnit_. 

“Even Baby ain’t perfect,” Dean says, reaching over to brush a tear off Cas' face with this thumb. Cas turns into the touch, till he's leaning against the palm of Dean's hand. Cas closes his eyes, draws in his strength, then nods. Dean gives him a few more seconds and lets Cas be the one to break the spell. 

It's a Starbucks-esque joint with cheaper, crappier looking coffee and it’s still way too nice for the run of the gas station it`’s attached to, but… he’s pretty lucky they came across somewhere anyway. He'd been checking for the signs since Cas formed the word 'Jess', not that he’d been expecting a full waterworks deal. Cas has already closed himself off, a little, but Dean just _can’t_ have a conversation this huge whilst trying to concentrated on the goddamn road. They need some _space_ to talk. Space that probably would have been easier to come by if they’d sacked off the drive to Sioux fall and spent the whole weekend actually spending time together, but… they don’t visit Bobby enough as it is. Dean’s not taking the risk. 

Cas leans into his side whilst they wait in the queue, and Dean winds up pulling him closer with a hand on the small of his back. There’s a woman who walked in just behind them who makes an audible noise of disapproval as Cas sways into his touch, but Dean’s probably got bigger problems to deal with right this second. 

"Cas," Dean says, soft, "First things first, Jess had leukaemia and they caught it late enough that they told her it was fifty fifty straight off. I've got early stage prostate cancer, which is a like _the flu_ in comparison. It’s like a ninety five percent survival rate. My main concern here is whether I'm gonna need a different kind of happy pills after they've got all up in my business. You don't need to worry about _losing me_." Dean says, by which point the kid at the counter is trying to catch his eye whilst trying not to intrude on their conversation about frigging cancer. "Black filter and a cappuccino. Both regulars," Dean says, "A slice of pie and...you want something to eat, Cas?" 

"No," 

"You sure?” 

"Yes, Dean, I'm fully capable of knowing whether I'm hungry," 

"All right," Dean says, "Just don't come complaining to me, sweetheart,” Dean continues, pulling out his wallet. He pauses when the woman frigging _tuts_ behind him, like him calling his damn husband a pet name (a purposefully patronising one, too) is something that warrants condemnation. 

Fuck it. 

"Excuse me?" Dean asks, turning round to face the woman straight in the face, because, fucking hell, but Dean’s not in the mood. He doesn’t need this kind of crap being thrown at him right now. "You got some kind of problem, lady?" She blinks at him. "All right then," Dean says, turning back around. 

He misses the exact words she mutters at his back, but he hears 'flaunting', 'life style choices' and 'unnatural' and that's _more than enough_ for Dean to go from mildly irritated to ready to make a motherfucking scene about it. "Look, lady, I'm having a bad day and I'd really frigging appreciate it if you kept your opinions about my business locked up in your closed minded little brain, so I can buy a damn cup of coffee without being interrupted.” 

“Dean, is this important currently?” Cas asks, voice prim and proper. He’s stayed resolutely in Dean’s space, though. 

“It pisses me off! If she can hear enough of our conversation to get prissy about 'sweetheart', then she can hear enough to know we're talking about me having goddamn _cancer_ ” and somehow it's still okay for some stranger to inflict their shitty prejudices on me,” 

“Dean,” 

“No charge,” the barrister kid says, “I'll bring it over to you,” 

“Thank you,” Cas says, clipped, dragging him away towards a table. 

“Nice kid,” 

“He's probably trying to prevent you causing a scene,” Cas says, glancing over at the woman, who looks slightly flushed. Apparently Dean was louder than he thought, because now half the place is watching them. 

“Sorry,” 

“There's no need for _you_ to apologise,” Cas says, loudly, “I thought we'd progressed past this by this point.” 

“Whatever,” Dean says, “I shouldn't have engaged. We're having a serious talk here.” 

“Yes, we were,” Cas says, turning to glare at the woman and, damnit. 

“You're right, Cas, that isn't important right now,” 

“Everyone's staring at us,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, dropping his voice and picking up the guy’s hand. “You're upset. Can we focus on that? You get that this... this cancer deal is gonna be fine, right? This isn't like Jess. I'm going to fine. You're not going to lose me. Not because of that, not because I'm too wrapped up in Sam, not through any kind of separation. You're stuck with me till I'm eighty five and die first in the bungalow we moved to after your hip replacement two years previously, okay?” 

“Why are you dying first?” 

“Well, what the hell am I gonna do without you?” Dean asks, “Come on, Cas. I'm gonna be fine.” 

“You don't know that,” 

“I do,” Dean says, “Look, we'll talk about the other things you said in a minute, but right now I wanna focus on this. Repeat after me, Cas: this is nothing to worry about,” 

"Dean," 

"Say it with me, buddy, this is nothing to worry about."

"Dean," 

"Cas, come on now," 

“This is nothing to worry about,” Cas deadpans, gaze tilting towards him. The blue is a little softer, though, and the crinkles around his eyes definitely read as slightly amused. He’s _mocking_ Dean, which is a huge step up from crying in the front seat of the impala two hours after Dean suggested some time apart, so Dean’s taking that as a win. 

“Awesome,” Dean says, glancing up at smiling as the barrister brings them their coffees. He’s upgraded them both to large coffees, Dean’s got a pretty sizable slice of pie and Cas has won himself a chocolate chip muffin, which is nice, even if Dean would probably have preferred to have just paid for their coffee and skipped the scene. “Guess I’m not the only one who thinks you look hungry,” 

“Thank you,” Castiel says, trying his best to smile but overshooting and looking slightly deranged. 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, nodding at him. He leaves with an awkward shuffle. Dean picks up his black coffee and takes a sip, watching as Cas pulls his own towards him and wraps his hands around the cup. “About Sam,” 

“Dean,” 

“You look like you think I’m gonna be pissed, which isn’t helpful,” Dean says, pinching his brow, “I’m not pissed. I get it. I mean, I _don’t_ , cause you don’t have a Sam equivalent. I got no idea how I’d feel if you were throwing me over to spend some time with someone else all the time, but given how much I freaked about you texting Meg…” 

“Personally, I would prefer it if we never spoke of that ridiculous argument again,” 

“Damn right,” Dean agrees, “But I’m pretty sure it’s important. I was only at Sam’s for half an hour,” 

“That’s not the point,” 

“I know,” Dean says, “I know that aint _your_ point, but that was pretty much mine that evening. You’re home later than me every day, anyway, so I figured… I don’t know, that you wouldn’t give a care,” 

“I like it when you’re waiting for me to get home,” 

“It sucks to be the one waiting, though,” Dean says, “And yeah, I’m getting that isn’t your problem. Just a symptom of a bigger cause. That’s my bad. Sam pretty much said the same thing, like, last week.” 

“Your brother is very observant,” 

“And a pain in the ass,” Dean says, “It’s not like I didn’t notice, I just… things between us have been a pretty tense. Guess it’s been less stressful to hang out with Sam than face up and deal,” Dean says, frowning into his coffee. “Didn’t mean to… wasn’t supposed to be hurting you, Cas, just making things easier.” 

“Your attempts to make things _easier_ have been significantly unwelcome,” Cas says, frowning into his muffin, “I’m _not_ supposed to be burden on you,” 

“Woah, Cas,” Dean says, reaching out to grab his hand, running a thumb over his knuckles, “That’s a big jump,” 

“Do you understand how I feel?” 

“No,” Dean says, mouth dry, “I’m trying to. Just feel like every time I crack into your skull you push me out again. I think I’m beginning to paint a picture, but it’s… honest to God, Cas, I don’t know how you feel right now,” 

“I feel like you don’t _want_ to work this out,” 

“Cas, all I’ve been doing is trying,” Dean says, turning Cas hands over to trace the lines on his palm, “You gotta believe me.” 

“I believe you are _trying_ , I don’t believe that you want to.” 

“That supposed to be some kind of riddle?” Dean asks, “Tell me what you need from me then I’ll do it, Cas, I promise you. Anything.” 

“I know that, Dean,” Cas says, looking down at his muffin and picking at it. He’s barely touched his coffee. “But, as you said previously, I want you to work that out yourself. Not because I want you to jump through hoops or because I’m currently holding anything against you… but what I _need_ is for you to understand and respond sincerely. I can tell you what I would like you to do, but…” 

“You don’t think it’ll fix things?” Dean supplies, taking another sip of his coffee, “About Jess, Cas… I’m not gonna patronise you and say I wished you’d told me what you were scared about before. I wouldn’t have handled it at the time. My nerves were shot to hell at that point. I needed you solid to get through every phone call with Sam, and you knew that. I’m glad you spoke to Jess. She was spectacular,” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “Has this helped?” 

“Honestly, I got no idea,” Dean says, thumb still tracing out lines on Cas’ hand, “But it needed to happen. Cas… I don’t know if I appreciated at the time what you were losing, with Jess. I was so damn focused on Sam – ” 

“ – as you should have been, Dean,” Cas interjects, “It took some time for it to hit me. First, I was focused on Sam, Mary and Robert. Then, upon Sam’s upcoming move to Lawrence, Claire, Emma… _I_ didn’t realise what I’d lost until a few months before my mother…” 

“Damn,” Dean says, “I’m sorry,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “I purposefully didn’t give these issues _space_ , until – ” 

“ – until Claire moves out, then suddenly we got these gaping, empty rooms in the house and all this free time and, bam, you realise that the fact that we’ve haven’t talked about any of this stuff for, what, two years suddenly means we’re not in sync? Yeah, I think I’m beginning to get it; protecting everyone from your emotions too successfully for a very long time.” 

“I think a year is a fairer estimate of the situation,” Cas says, fingers digging into his coffee cup, till it dents under his touch. He’s still barely drank any of it. 

“Awesome,” 

“I didn’t know I was doing it,” Cas frowns, “It’s not just Jess, Dean, or Sam. It’s an accumulation of things I haven’t dealt with that I hadn’t _realised_ I hadn’t dealt with, that I’d purposefully not been sharing with you. This is _my_ fault, but I don’t know how to fix it,” 

“I let you,” Dean says, “Should’ve pushed. Should have gotten you to talk to me sooner.” 

“Perhaps you could have tried harder,” Cas says, “Although I’m not sure it would have made a great deal of difference.” 

“Scrap the blame game,” Dean says, “This is good. We just had a whole thirty minute conversation without an argument, Cas, we’re _nailing_ this marriage business. Let’s just call it as not how we want this to be and work on fixing it. I’ll watch the Sam thing. Next weekend, we’ll drive someplace and hang out,” 

“Emma and Claire are here until Sunday,” 

“Okay,” Dean says, picking up his fork and going for some pie, “Weekend after,” 

“Gabriel's visiting,” 

“Damn,” Dean says, through a mouthful of pie, some hipster walnut and apple and vanilla thing, but it tastes damn good. “This is fucking awesome,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, actually smiling this time. It’s openly affectionate and probably has this asshole-woman tutting into her coffee, but it’s one of the warmest looks Dean’s won for a while. Apparently all it took was Dean getting over excited by pie. 

“Seriously, Cas, you gotta try this,” 

“You’re letting me _try_ your pie?” 

“You get a forkful,” Dean says, pointing at him with is fork before pushing the plate over to the middle of the table, shifting his chair round the circle of the table at the same time. Cas edges closer too. “That’s your limit,” 

“You know my reaction to pie is usually underwhelming,” 

“This is the one that’ll convert you,” Dean says, as Cas picks up his fork. 

“Are you photographing me eat pie?” 

“Some people take dick pics,” Dean grins, as Cas offers a bemused smile to Dean’s cell phone, “And Claire’s reliable told me we’re too old for that crap,” 

“I hardly think me eating pie is an equivalent,” 

“No one asked for your input,” Dean says, “Shut up and eat the pie,” 

Cas’ smile widens. It loosens the tight, anxious feeling in his chest some, and behind that the familiar affection comes rushing back all at once. He loves the Cas who humours him by eating his mouthful of pie _excessively_ slowly, blue gaze purposefully serious and intense and direct straight at him. He loves the Cas who’s crying in the impala because he forgot he was a human being with actual emotions that need to be _dealt with_ , even when there’s not directly the best thing for his family, too… it’s just, that Cas scares him. He doesn’t understand that Cas. He’s got no clue where his thoughts are at, or how to help, or what he’s thinking. _This_ Cas is easy, familiar and lovely. This Cas is accessible.

“So?” 

“It was… good,” 

“Good,” Dean says, snatching his fork back and dropping his phone back onto the table, “Frigging blasphemy. This is _awesome_.” 

“We’ve been through this before,” Cas says, “My reactions to pie displeases you,” 

“Eat your muffin, Judas,” 

“I love you,” 

“Even when I’m a jackass who fobs you off to see his brother and doesn’t notice he’s screwing everything up till you point it out?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, taking a sip of coffee, then making a face, “This is cold,” 

“That’s kinda what happens,” Dean says, “I’ll get you another,” 

“I can get it,” 

“We share a bank account, dude, it don’t really make much difference who walks up there,” Dean says, then glances at his watch. Cas bought it for him at some point or other – a Christmas or a birthday, probably – but it remains one of the most traditionally sentimental gifts Cas got him. Dean likes having the reminder there more than he should. “Should probably hit the road soon,” 

“I’ll get the coffee,” Cas says, “I believe you need some alone time with your pie,” 

“Screw you, jackass,” Dean says, shovelling up another forkful of pie, “Get your coffee, Cas, I’ll finish up here.” 

Dean winds up tipping twice the amount of the bill probably would have been as a matter of principle. He’s tempted to leave the kid a note telling him to keep up the good work, but that involves acknowledging the bullshit that just happens here. Instead, he just drops the cash on the table and heads for the exit. 

“I have a confession,” Cas says, when they're back on the road with Dean still in the driver’s seat, Cas sipping on his second coffee. “On Thursday I took a photo of you making breakfast before you realised I was out of the shower.” 

“This before you start raising objections about the nude thing?” 

“That wasn't why I took the photograph,” Cas says, “As much as I admire your naked ass, I have both better photographic material and actual memories of your ass to make that unnecessary. It just made me happy,” 

“You didn't seem happy,” 

“I was happier before we actually spoke to one another, admittedly, but it was our anniversary and I was feeling grossly sentimental,” 

“Is this to make me feel better about the pie thing? Cause maybe I shouldn't say how many pictures I have of you driving my car,” 

“Remarkable, considering how persistently reluctant you were to let me do it,” 

“Move past the anxiety and it's kinda hot. Like, falling into the sun, Dr sexy level season four kinda hot,” Dean says, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. It’s seriously tempting to drop a hand to Cas’ knee, or find his hand and squeeze. He swallows back the urge purely for the sake of road safety. 

“Season four?” 

“It's the cowboy boots,” 

“Of course, 

“First time you left me alone with the kids, it was that summer conference thing in Miami. Claire was 12 months old. You left your coat because it was the middle of a heatwave and I carried it round in the car because I missed you,” 

“I didn't know that,” 

“You weren't supposed to,” Dean says, “I was ashamed when I was doing it, let alone when you were back.” 

“I like it when you're sentimental,” 

“Too bad I’m so bad at it, huh?” Dean says, “Cas…” 

“Your cell’s ringing,” 

“Pocket,” Dean says, which gets Cas digging a hand into his jeans. He’s a little handsier than necessary, probably. 

“It’s Benny,” Cas says, sliding his thumb over to answer before Dean can tell him that Benny can wait. Benny’s been in a rut, lately, and it’s pretty exhausting. The second divorce seems to have made him a lot more bitter than the first and it’s not that Dean doesn’t _care_ , because he does… it’s just…. He’s got his own crap going on and he doesn’t know how much Dean can actually help. 

Plus, Cas and Benny do not get on. He sees no way this conversation is going to end well. He'd much rather give the guy a call later, when Dean doesn't have to speak through Cas and the speaker function on this phone.

“Hey Chief,” 

“Benny,” Cas says, voice flat, “What do you want?” 

“Castiel,” Benny audibly grins, “How come Dean’s got his misses answering the phone?” 

“I am not a _misses_ ,” 

“Tell him I’m driving,” 

“He’s driving,” Cas repeats. 

“Copy that,” Benny says, “How are you, angel?” 

“Please don’t call me that,” Cas says, voice still flat, “Why are you calling Benny?” 

“Need a favour,” Benny says, “Wouldn’t ask, but… I, well, things have been pretty dark lately. Didn’t know who else to go to,” 

“What’s up, Benny?” Dean asks, loud enough for it to carry, “What do you need?” 

“Elizabeth,” 

“She looking after herself?” 

“Don’t she always, brother?” Benny asks and, damn, the guy sounds… bad. Wrong. Like he’s the wrong side of a couple of beers, even though he’s been dry for decades. “She’s… ah, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t be bothering you both with this crap,” 

“Don’t sound like nothing,” 

“You went through the effort of calling,” Cas says, “You might as well actually say something.” 

“Boy, anyone ever told you you’re a real charmer?” 

“All right, children,” Dean says, “Behave,” 

“Elizabeth’s headed to Jefferson City for Thanksgiving,” 

“To her husband’s parents?” Castiel asks, because of course he would know that kind of shit. “I see,” 

“And it's been made pretty clear to me I ain’t welcome at the old homestead,” 

“Which of your ex-wife’s do you mean?” 

“Cas,” Dean snaps, “You remember something call _tact_?” 

“I got nowhere else to go, chief, and facing it alone just…” 

“Yes, you can spend Thanksgiving with us,” Cas says, “Provided you’re not mortal enemies with Sam Winchester,” 

“No more so than I am with you, Angel,” Benny says, “You don't know how much you're saving my ass here. Thanks, Cas, I owe you." 

“Watch it, Benny,” Dean says, “That sounded dangerously close to flirting,” 

“You know I’ve only got eyes for you, brother,” 

“Are we done?” Cas asks, “I think we’re done. Goodbye, Benny. See you on Thursday.” 

“Cas,” Dean exhales, “You didn’t have to do that,” 

“I know I didn’t _have_ to,” Cas says, “There was no gun to my head and I am fully aware of the concept of free will and my ability to use it.” 

“Okay, I’ll rephrase, _why_ did you do that?” 

“Because, Dean, Benny is your friend and it’s _unfair_ and depressing for him to spend Thanksgiving alone,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “Yeah, Cas, it’s fucking miserable, but it’s not… it’s not _our_ problem,” 

“What?” 

“Cas, you literally just chewed me out for having my priorities screwed up about Sam, when I’m pretty sure this is exactly the same thing. I mean… Cas, you have an _actual_ problem with Benny, whereas with Sam you’re just projecting my crap straight back at him. If you did that just cause you thought I needed you to…then I didn’t.” 

“Do you want me to ring him back and tell him not to come?” 

“No,” Dean says, “No, that’s a grade A dick move, just…” 

“We should switch drivers at the next gas station,” Cas says, pocketing Dean’s phone, “And get some food. I’m hungry.” 

Dean’s too tired to bother rolling his eyes. 

* 

“You drive here via Disneyland?” Bobby asks, as Dean lugs their duffle bag into Bobby’s house. It’s been a couple of years now, but seeing Bobby in his wheelchair always makes Dean feel like he’s been gutted. He’s so visibly 

_ old_ , now, and it’s terrifying. He hasn’t changed a bit, mind, even if he’s a little slower and completely grey. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, “We’re late, so sue me,” 

“Hey kid,” Ellen says, appearing behind Bobby in her dressing gown, “What was the hold up?” 

“Some woman from the eighteen hundreds who didn’t get the memo about equality interrupting my coffee,” Dean says, “And Cas got home late from work,” 

“You didn’t have to make a scene,” 

“I told you what time we were heading off,” 

“I didn’t mean that,” 

“Yeah, no, I got that Cas,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, “Good to see you, Bobby, Ellen,” 

“Save your small talk for the morning,” Bobby grunts, “And don’t go thinking I’m about to set up your bed for you,” 

“I’ll do it,” Cas says. 

“Night cap?” Ellen asks, wandering into the kitchen as Cas heads for the stairs. Bobby grunts and wheels into front room. 

“Good God yes,” Dean says, “And one for the old timer, too.” Dean follows Ellen into the kitchen and pulls out a few glasses, whilst Ellen goes for the good whiskey. Given the whole house had to rearranged to make it wheelchair accessible, it sure as hell feels like nothing much has changed. There’s still a picture of Dean and Sam as kids tacked on the fridge, right alongside that one of Jo, Ellen and Bill. The standard collection of wedding pictures, but the eclectic graduation ones too (Jo and Sam’s are solo ones, but Cas snuck in on his graduation pictures too). Their whole lives are mapped out on the fridge and it’s, well, it kind of hurts how much they’ve lost over the years. It’s not the first time Dean’s figured their family’s cursed. 

"Well you don't look like you're on the brink of divorce," Bobby comments, when Dean emerges into the front room with two glasses. Ellen rolls her eyes behind him and passes Bobby a glass, which leaves the two in Dean’s hands for him and Cas. 

"What?" 

"Emma," Ellen says, "Told us you boys were arguing." 

“Damn that girl’s mouth,” Dean mutters, “And can we avoid the D word around Cas? He’s feeling a little… sensitive,” 

“Sensitive?” Bobby repeats, “Boy, what did you do?” 

“Maybe suggesting some time apart right before a six hour drive wasn’t the brightest thing I’ve ever done, but....” 

“Damnit Dean,” Bobby says, rolling his eyes. 

“Emma ain’t wrong about the arguing,” Dean says, taking a sip of the good whiskey and letting it burn at the back of his throat. “We’re working on it.” 

“Sounds like it,” Bobby says, “You best fix it,” 

“You okay, kid?” Ellen asks, 

“Been better,” Dean says, knocking back his glass, “It’s late. Gonna hit the hay. Help Cas. Sleep. Hope things look better in the morning, yada yada,” 

“Get some sleep, Dean,” Ellen says, pulling him into an actual hug before she lets Dean heads to the stairs, Cas’ glass of whiskey still clutched in his right hand. The sheets are already on the bed and Cas is in the upstairs bathroom when Dean gets into the room, so Dean dumps his glass on the side and reaches for the lame pyjamas that Cas insisted they pack. 

They probably should have just stayed at home. 

* 

“Didn't sleep well?” Dean asks, walking into Bobby’s kitchen to find Cas staring at the pictures on the fridge over a cup of coffee. 

“Hmm,” 

“Been a while since your insomnia's played up,” 

“You think this is some kind of hotel, boy?” Bobby snaps, wheeling into the room, “Put some damn clothes on before you come down here,” 

“If this were a hotel they'd be breakfast, I'd have got laid and they'd be a coffee machine in my room,” 

“Watch it, Winchester,” Bobby mutters. 

“You should be nice to me. Make special allowances.” 

“And why's that, pray?” 

“Dean,” Cas says, it’s a warning. It’s Cas silently telling him to shut the hell up, but Dean’s in the kind of mood that makes that make it all the more tempting just to rebel against him. Dean’s kind of a jackass like that. 

“Cause I've got cancer,” 

“Is this really appropriate Dean?” Cas snaps, “Stop treating this as though it's a joke,” 

“Will you quit telling me how to deal, Cas, Jesus Christ?" 

“Must you –“ 

“ – If you're about to bitch at me for blaspheming then, fucking hell Cas – ” 

“ – I thought we had _’Dean and Cas problems_ which is indicative of my feelings about how you’re dealing being worth notice, unless this is another of those exceptions which are just ‘Dean problems’?” 

“This isn't about our crappy relationship Cas, and if I wanna deal by making shitty jokes –” 

“- regardless of how it makes _me_ feel?” 

“ – this is about way more than _what you feel_ , Castiel,” 

“Don't mock me, Dean,” 

“Both of you quit your yapping,” Bobby snaps, “And show the other people in this room some damn respect. Dean, your boy is damn right. You don't get to tell us something like that as the punchline to one of your jokes. You buckle up and tell us straight. Castiel, your husband's a knuckle headed stubborn pain in the ass, but you knew that when you married him. Now _what_ is going on?” 

“I've got prostate cancer,” Dean says, “Which sounds a lot scarier than it is. It's basically a hundred percent curable. I'm gonna be fine.” 

“And you think yelling that at is the right way to deal?” 

“Bobby I don't know what the hell I'm doing, let alone what's right.” 

“Sit,” Bobby demands, which… yeah, Dean’s just about never argued with commands from Bobby. It’s probably a father figure thing, depressing as that notion is. 

“But, breakfast?” Dean says. 

“I'll cook,” Cas volunteers, voice still sharp. 

“Really, Cas?” 

“You turning frigging cancer into something to argue about now?” 

“Well we argued about every other fucking thing,” 

“Dean,” 

“What, man, I'm just being honest here.” 

“Have you ever considered that I _don't want you to be_?” 

“That you don't want me to be honest? Okay. Try this for size - it's been so great having all this time to reconnect with my husband after our kids moved out. I just love getting to be just us. It’s given our marriage such a boost. I feel _free_ again.” 

Cas' expression freezes in a way that Dean knows means he's gone to far, then he turns around and walks out of the kitchen. 

“Damnit, boy,” Bobby says, staring him down. 

“Don’t sweat it,” Dean says, “I’ll cook your damn breakfast,” 

“You want to tell me what the hell is going on?” 

“Maybe I aint handling my shit very well right now, but if people would quit _getting_ at me –” 

“Dean Winchester,” Ellen snaps, appearing in the kitchen looking _furious_ , “You follow that boy right now and square away your argument. You have thirty minutes till Will’s father drops him off here and if you can’t quit yelling at each other by then, then you’re gonna have to take this argument someplace else. I won’t have my grandson being subjected to your issues,” 

“Got it,” Dean says. 

“And put on a damn shirt,” 

“I’m losing clarity over who’s making breakfast here,” Dean says, which wins him dual glares, which is probably fair enough. It’s just his first response to this kind of emotion is to lash out with a quip. It’s like, automatic. 

He finds Cas out in the junkyard ten minutes later, with the adition or of a shirt. 

“It’s good that Gabriel is coming to visit the weekend after next,” Castiel says, “We’ll have an opportunity to argue in front of another family member. Perhaps over thanksgiving you can yell at me in front of Claire, too, then we will have made the _full set_.” 

“Cas,” 

“Do you know how _humiliating_ it is when you treat me like that in front of your family?” 

“Our family,” 

“They were yours first,” 

“Cas,” 

“I hate the way you say that like it fixes things,” Cas snaps, “My name. It is _infuriating_ ,” 

“Okay, I’m infuriating. I’m a jackass. I’m selfish. I’m the worst damn person on the planet. We were making progress and I fucked it all up, fine, but you gotta hear me here, Cas, this isn’t fun news to deliver to people, okay? There is no right way to do it. And I’m just… I’m struggling,” 

“I know that,” Cas says, “I _know_ , I’m just… I am _also_ struggling.” 

“Get over here,” Dean says, voice low. Cas does. He tucks himself under arms and squeezes tight. Dean clutches back, losing himself in the scent of Cas’ hair. Cas _needs_ him. It’s kinda hard to deny that when Cas is holding onto him that tightly, not quite shaking but achingly vulnerable. 

Back inside, Ellen apologises for the tough love routine, they have an unyieldingly crap talk about cancer, Dean cooks breakfast and Will comes over for a roast dinner. All things considered, it’s actually a pretty good Saturday. 


	6. Chapter 6

“You know Dean,” Cas says, frowning at the fridge, “I’m really not sure we have enough food to feed eight people in this refrigerator. Perhaps we should have purchased another in order to be fully prepared for thanksgiving,” 

“No one likes a smart ass, Cas,” Dean says, coming up behind him to rest his hands on Cas’ hips, “You doing okay?” 

“I cannot shut the fridge,” 

“Sure you can,” 

“Really, Dean,” 

“It’s like adult Tetris,” Dean says, “It definitely fits,” 

“Please, show me your magical powers,” Cas says, turning round and kissing him, which is huge improvement on where they were at last week, even if they’ve had a spectacularly shitty few days (weeks, months; on the whole 2047 has been pretty awful all round) “Teach me your ways,” 

“Prepare to be impressed,” Dean says, taking a step back to face down the fridge. In retrospect, he probably should’ve bought a smaller turkey. Or just… less food. Less _everything_. Even if Claire and Emma are both staying till after the weekend, they’re probably not going to go through all the crap Dean bought. They probably have eaten at some point since moving out, so purchasing every single one of their favourite foods alongside food for Thanksgiving was… yeah, a tad excessive. He got excited and was jonesing for a distraction, so… food shopping. “How much does milk need to be in the fridge, anyway?” 

“Has Sam contacted you yet?” 

“No,” Dean says, swallowing, “I know we agreed we were gonna talk to Claire and Emma tonight, but if we haven’t heard from Sam I dunno if I can handle it. I’m freaking out, Cas.” 

“Sam will call soon,” Cas says, pulling Dean in by his shirt and cupping his jaw, “He will be _fine_ , Dean, just as you’ve been assuring me that _you’ll_ be fine.” 

“The Doc told you that, too,” Dean says, “Not just me spinning you stories,” 

“I never thought it was,” Cas says, “Have you thought any more about treatments?” 

“Only solidly for the past twenty four hours,” Dean says, screwing his hand’s up in Cas’ shirt, “Thanks, for yesterday,” Dean mutters, “I mean, you were awesome. Totally solid. I forget how much I need you when the shit’s hitting the fan. You’re like, not even my rock. You’re that layer underneath the rock bit,” 

“I believe that’s molten lava, but I understand your point,” Cas smiles, running a thumb along his jaw bone, “I thought you were brilliant too. This isn’t… easy and I fear, in general, I’ve been making things worse,” 

“Nah, you haven’t,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss the guy’s bottom lip, just for a second, “So, I’m thinking I wanna do whichever has the less chance of screwing our sex life. Don’t give me that look, Castiel, you knew that’s what I was gonna say,” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “That doesn’t mean I have to agree with you,” 

“ Hear me out,” Dean says, “Cause I’m not about to do something you’re not okay with… but, they say a valid treatment options for some people is just to _do nothing_ and keep an eye on it,” 

“Not for men your age,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I know, we ruled that out, but this is like _really_ so much less of a big deal than I thought it was gonna be when they first said it. It’s between the radiation deal or surgery. They both sound like they’ll do the job. So, I figure our sex life is a good of a criteria than any. I _know_ you’re more worried about me than whether I’m gonna be out of action for a while, but… dude, we’re not talking about your dick here.” 

“You’d say the same as me if we were,” 

“Dunno, man, I’m pretty attached to your dick. We’ve had some good times, me and it,” 

“Dean,” 

“And I know our sex life ain’t the be all and end all,” Dean says, “But it’s still pretty awesome. Plus, the flipside of the getting-it-up-issues is _incontinence_ and I cannot express how much I am not down with that,” 

“Your phone,” Cas says, pulling it out of his pocket as Dean freezes, “Sam.” 

“Holy shit,” Dean says, as Cas steps further into his personal space like he belongs there which, yeah, he does actually. Cas is _meant_ to be pressed up against him in their kitchen, even if they’ve been kinda screwing everything up all round lately. This is just how it’s supposed to be, “Cas,” 

“Hello Sam,” Cas answers, “Dean is here,” 

“Hey guys,” Sam says, straight off the mark, “So, they ran the basic tests, and I’m fine,” 

“Oh thank God,” Dean exhales, tightening his grip on Cas’ hip, “Holy hell, Sam, what took you so long to call?” 

“Appointments were running late,” Sam says, “And like you can talk, Dean. What happened in your appointment yesterday?” 

“Doubly confirmed,” Dean says, “But under control. Sorry, needed some time. Should’ve called.” 

“Whatever, Dean, its fine,” Sam says, “Are Claire and Emma driving down today?” 

“Claire should arrive within the next forty minutes if Dean’s regular refreshing of google maps is correct,” Cas supplies, “Emma is coming straight after work.” 

“You thought about treatment?” 

“Were literally just discussing it,” Dean says, “So far we’ve got to which ruins my, and therefore our, sex life less,” 

“Dean, I’ve been doing some research, and if you get the right doctor these days the chances of you having urinary problems or erectile –”

“– please don’t finish that sentence,” Dean winces, because the first thing he did with the doc and Cas was ban the words _erectile dysfunction_ and the last thing he needs is his brother throwing that around like it doesn’t make Dean want to pull his hair out. He _gets_ that that’s immature and dumb but… they’re not talking about Sam’s dick, either. “And it’s not just that, Sammy,” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Frigging hell, Sam, I know you’re pretty damn straight, but you cannot be sheltered enough to know that actually having a prostate is a pretty key aspect of –” 

“ – yes, Dean,” Sam cuts across, and that’s definitely a bitch face, “I just assumed that you… you know,” 

“Wait,” Dean says, “This is too good. You assumed _I_ was the top? Hah. I _told_ Charlie I didn’t have ‘ratchet-ass bottom’ written above my head permanently. After you _literally_ walked in on –?”

“ – I blocked that from my memory,” 

“And after Gabriel told everyone about the panties thing?” 

“Dean,” 

“No, this is awesome,” Dean grins, “This is really cheering me up,” 

“For the record,” Cas says, “We switch,” 

“You’re ruining my moment, Cas,” Dean says, tucking his hands under Cas’ shirt. This is good. He’s on the phone to _Sam_ and Cas hasn’t ran off. Cas is willingly engaging in physical contact in the kitchen like everything’s fine. They’re having a pretty normal conversation, the cancer thing aside, and Sam’s basically there, and it’s good. It’s like normalcy is breaking out again. 

“You’re solidifying ongoing prejudices that the sexual positions assumed in sex are indicative of one’s roles in a relationship,” Cas says, still close and warm, “It’s merely the opposite side of the sexism coin,” 

“Hey, I know that,” Dean says, “I’m the one who takes and gives, whilst Sammy over there –” 

“ – okay, Dean, you’ve made your point,” Sam says, “And you’ve scarred me again. Thanks ever so.” 

“Hey, you’re a grown ass man, you can deal with a little anal sex talk,” Dean says, “Speaking of, me and Cas have got thirty minutes till our kids reinvade for the weekend so…”

“It’s hardly enough time for all the prep work,” Cas says, smiling at him. 

“Well,” Dean says, “I could still suck you off in the kitchen.” 

“Hanging up,” Sam says, “So hanging up.” 

“Glad you’re okay Sam,” 

“Glad you two seem… more normal,” Sam says, “See you Thursday, Dean, Cas.” 

“I couldn’t get a conclusive answer from the leaflets in regards to how the treatments effect being the penetrative partner,” 

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Dean says, swallowing, “I got to ‘reduced sensation’ from the radiation stuff, but that’s pretty much it. That could mean anything from you having to fuck me harder to shows over, folks,” 

“We’ll look into it,” Cas says, placing Dean’s cell on the kitchen counter, then taking Dean’s face in his hands again and pulling him into a proper kiss, “Do you want to engage in oral sex in our kitchen?” 

“Yes,” Dean says, “Although maybe not in the room I gotta cook half our family thanksgiving dinner in this week. Bedroom?” 

Cas kisses him again. It’s so damn _good_ that they seem to have been on the same page for the past couple of days. It makes everything feel _manageable_ and has solidified Dean’s inner diagnosis of not-depression-this-time as conclusive enough to cancel his follow up appointment with Tina. His mental bullshit is all spiralling from the marriage stuff, this time, which isn’t particularly reassuring… it’s okay now, though, when Dean’s beginning to think the big, serious talk they had on Friday might have just taken a few days to have it’s effect. They might just be back on track. 

“You need fit the milk in the fridge first,” Cas says, kissing the disgruntled expression off Dean’s face, “Find me when you’ve finished.” 

Dean takes a look back at the pack of bacon and the cartoon of milk that as of yet haven’t made it into the fridge, then looks back at everything else he managed to squeeze in there through a mixture of swearing at the steaks and removing all the veg that _says_ refrigerate which Dean’s pretty sure will be fine, but either way didn’t provide much competition for the rack of ribs he has marinating (Claire’s favourites) and the joint of gammon they’re having on Wednesday (Emma’s favourite). He’s only just now remembering the part where he froze the mince beef he got for the handmade burgers for Friday (for Cas), because he couldn’t think of any other way of getting it in the fridge. 

“Sonuvabitch,” 

*

"Maybe I should've picked her up," 

"It's an eight hour drive, Dean," 

"Exactly," Dean says, but settles back into Cas' touch anyway, because he’s so _not_ going to turn down Cas holding him in the kitchen when everything’s been such a mess for weeks. Dean’s pretty sure that quite a lot of what’s keep them functioning right this second is that they’ve crossed into crisis mode, cancer-wise, which means all the petty stuff has been shelved until they’ve dealt with it, and because they’re both so damn excited about having Claire and Emma back for five whole nights. "She's eighteen." 

"Dean, you're being overbearing. You drove much further distances when you were eighteen." 

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really a kid when I was eighteen," Dean says, letting Cas tighten his hold around him. "And she was supposed to be here by now,” 

“She probably hit traffic,” Cas says, “She’s _fine_ ,” 

“I - ” Dean begins, and it’s going to be an ‘I love you’ but then there’s a key scraping in the lock and Dean loses the end of his sentence. Dean turns in space of Cas arms towards the doorway, then suddenly Claire's there in the doorway and _holy shit_ Dean's missed her. She’s started wearing even _more_ eyeliner and there’s a purple streak in her hair, but Dean knew that from the last video chat they had. Still, she’s even more enigmatic and bad ass in person; blue eyes sparkling, car keys twirling in her fingers, book bag slung over her shoulder. 

He's not expecting her to blink at them for a few seconds then start frigging crying, though, and it takes him so much by surprise he just stares for a few long seconds. Claire drops her bag off her shoulder and there’s _tears_ tainted with eyeliner and it just… it just was not how he figured his youngest daughter would make her entrance after the longest time they’ve ever spent without seeing each other. 

"Claire, what's wrong?" Cas asks, straight off the mark, and at least one of them is. 

"Thank _fuck_ ," Claire says, then she's stepping forward to throw her arms over both of them. 

"What?" Dean blinks, then Claire fist-bumps his shoulder _with feeling_. Dean mutters an ‘ow’ and rubs his arm because, damn, that girl’s got a solid right hook. Mostly, he’s just got his eyes fixed on Claire’s movements. 

"Asshole," Claire says. 

"Um, sorry?" Dean says. 

"Claire, could you please explain what's happening." 

"You said ‘we need to talk to you.’ Who _does_ that?" Claire asks, then she’s going for individual hugs. Cas gets the first, then Claire’s wrapped her arms around Dean’ neck and is squeezing tight. God, he loves Claire. It’s insane how much he loves this unbelievable eighteen year old woman and everything that she’s become, and is going to become. She’s going to be incredible. She already is, really, but she’s got this whole future ahead of here and Dean gets to be part of it and no one told him what a terrifying privilege that would be. 

"Hold fire, what did you think we were gonna say?" 

“It doesn’t matter,” Claire says. 

“Claire,” Cas warns, with his authoritative father voice back in full swing. It’s sexier than it should be, really. 

"Emma said you were arguing and Will said he overheard Grandpa and Grandma Ellen talking about you being in marriage counselling and I thought…” Claire says, the tears are already drying up, but the dark black smudges under her eyes make their presence pretty obvious. She’s pulling her emotion back in and furiously wiping he cheek, but… too late. Evidentially walking in and crying wasn’t part of Claire’s plan, either. 

"That we were separating?" Cas supplies. 

“Yeah,” Claire sniffs. 

“Fuck that,” Dean says, “You know how expensive divorces are? Benny’s been damn near bled dry by number two. The guy’s renting this place that’s smaller than our college flat and he’s barely keeping in the black.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, sending him a look. 

“Yeah, we're kind of in a rough patch, but relationships are like that sometimes. We're working on it. It'll take a helluva something for us to call it quits. We're committed.” 

“And grossly in love?” Claire asks, hands on her hip and raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You know it, sweet cheeks. Can't believe you've been thinking that for six hundred miles. Damnit. You should’ve… well, I’m sorry, Claire Bear.” 

“Wait, what were you going to say?” Claire asks, going sombre again, “Is someone dying? Is everyone okay?” 

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Dean answers, before Cas can make her worry anymore. Cas shifts behind him in a way that’s not very convincing though and Claire’s concentrating on _Cas_ rather than Dean, which is bad news. 

“What's going on?” 

“Emma's gonna be here in ten,” Dean says, “You want a beer?” 

“I'm not twenty one,” 

“I'm not gonna call the police,” 

“Fine,” Claire says, as Dean gets her a beer from the fridge, when then frees just about enough space for him to fit the bacon in too. He should’ve thought about removing the beer before nearly missing out on some a-grade oral sex, but whatever. “You not having one?” 

“Nah,” Dean shrugs, passing it over. A beer probably would be harmless, but he is aiming to cut back on the drinking. Especially after the drinking-routine he nailed the previous week. He’ll wait until Emma’s here, too, then he’ll have one. Maybe a second if the evening’s going okay. He needs to get his shit back under control. 

“You pregnant? Is that the big news?” 

“Hilarious,” 

“I thought so,” Claire says, but she's still obviously worried. She’s tracking him a little too carefully, blue eyes tracing his every movement a little too closely. “So, can we bitch about Jake some more?” 

“Claire Winchester Novak,” Cas warns, “Be nice.” 

“He's being nice enough for the both of us. Padre agrees,” 

“Padre knows better than to cross your Dad,” Dean voices, gravitating towards Cas. His back is hurting again today. Cas has been pretty much babying through it, but it’s kinda awesome and Dean’s definitely not going to object when Cas wordlessly pulls Dean in by a hand around his waist. 

“You're such a Hufflepuff.” 

“You know how little I'm insulted by that?” Dean asks, as Cas thumbs at the hairline on the back of Dean’s neck. 

"I mean, whatever, if he makes Emma happy then..." 

"You remind me a great deal of whenever Dean disliked Sam's girlfriends." 

"And was I or was I not always right?" Dean asks, "Come on, what was with Amelia..? She was a vegetarian, for fuck’s sake." 

"Yikes," Claire says. 

"See," 

"It alarms me how alike you two are," Cas smiles, "You mentioned bringing your laundry home Claire?" 

"Oh, yeah. The laundrettes costs half your soul to do a load. It's in the car." 

"I'll put a load on," 

"Thanks, Dad," Claire smiles, as Cas takes her car keys and heads for the door. "You sure everything's okay?" 

"Pretty much," Dean says, which Claire absolutely does not buy, but Emma turning up saves him from having to provider a longer explanation. She comes in still half-yelling back out the door to Cas, throwing her coat over the banister like they don’t have a perfectly good place to actually hang the damn things up). By the time she’s kicked off her shoes, dumped her bags and got into the kitchen, Cas is right behind her, coming in with two duffels for dirty laundry. It looks a little Claire hasn’t done any frigging laundry since she left, but then the girl wears a lot of clothes. Whatever. Dean’s just glad that she still needs him, even if it’s just for the washing machine. 

"Hey," Emma says, then she's near tackled by Claire immediately. "Purple hair, Claire, really?” 

“Hey yourself, Ms Stuck-in-the-mud,” Claire says, “And it’s only partially purple,” 

“And you’re drinking now?” 

“Blame Padre,” Claire says, lifting her beer up in a mock salute. 

“Dad,” Emma says, sending a look at Castiel, because apparently such things are just to be expected from Dean. “I’d have thought _you_ -” 

“ – it’s a beer, not an alcohol addiction,” Claire rolls her eyes, “And the rest of the world has a reasonable drinking age, so…” 

“If you’re old enough to vote, you’re old enough to have a frigging beer,” 

“Right,” Claire agrees “What’s got your sensible underwear in a twist?” 

“Bad day at work,” 

“Oh, bummer,” Claire says, “In which case, would you like to ride my ass about my new ear piercings too? I know it helps relieve the tension.” 

“Shut up, jerk,” 

“Bitch,” 

“Hey,” Dean interjects, “You… you _thieves_.That thing is already taken and patented. You… you get your own cutsey insults thing. Back off mine. Go for douchebag or…” 

“Assbutt,” Emma and Claire supply at exactly the same time, which is about when he figures that the whole thing is a set-up. Emma’s eyes are shining as she throws an arm over Claire’s shoulder and beams. She’s still got a good few inches on Claire’s height, so they’re a little lopsided, with Claire’s white blonde (except the purple streak) hair half braided on one side, whilst Emma’s is strawberry blonde, dead straight and shoulder length. Even without their physical differences – Emma’s dark eyes verses Claire’s blue, Claire’s more rounded features, Emma’s thin boyish figure- there’s the fact that Claire’s wearing a leather jacket over her band t-shirt whilst Emma’s donning sensible shoes and black trousers. They don’t look a whole lot alike, but Dean’s not sure how anyone could miss that they’re sisters by the way they move around each other. 

“Shut up,” Dean says, waving a finger at them. 

“Witty, Daddy,” Emma grins, letting go of Emma to step forwards and kiss him on the cheek then give him a hug. She moves onto Cas before heading for the fridge for her own beer, then turning her serious (and normal) expression back on. “You said you had something you wanted to talk about?" 

"Yeah," Dean says, stomach sinking "Although, disclaimer; we are not getting a frigging divorce,” Dean says, which has Emma’s gaze sweep over to Claire, who shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the ceiling, then back to Dean and Cas. It’s probably only because Dean _knows_ how fast the girl’s brain works, but Dean’s still sure that Emma’s got him completely worked out – everything from the argument about Sam to the minor disagreement they had on Sunday night about dinner – from that one searching look. 

"You didn't want me overthinking you could have _told_ me you were in marriage counselling rather than letting Will tell me," 

"That was an oversight," Cas says, right behind him again. Dean glances behind him to smile at him, leaning back into his touch. It’s good to be close to Cas. "Apologies, Claire." 

"Also, we went once and it sucked. It's not a big news item." 

"The news?" Emma asks, forehead slightly furrowed. She’s looking directly at _Dean_ because she’s a goddamn people-genius, even if school was never really her deal. "What's wrong, Padre?" 

"How do you do that?" 

"She's the Sherlock Holmes of emotions,” Claire pipes up, leaning on her chair. 

"Dad's more revealing than you," Emma says, "Usually, Dad's more... it’s the way you gravitate around each other, Dad leans into you for comfort. You've switched, only Dad keeps glancing at you like he's freaking out, so..." 

"You've been I'm the room two minutes," Dean says, "two." 

"She's kind of right," Claire says, "You were hugging all wrong when I came in." 

"Dude," Dean says, "I wish I had this creepy power like you two do," 

“The suspense thing sucks, FYI Dads,” Claire says, “Seriously,” 

"Okay so," Dean says, with Cas' arms wrapped tight around him. "We’re doing this. Great… um, yeah. So, I have cancer. Pretty tame. They're gonna do some treatment crap that I don't understand and then I'll be fine." 

"Cancer," Claire blinks. 

"What kind?" Emma asks, swallowing. 

"Prostate," Dean says, then pauses at the slight involuntarily movement from Claire. It’s an almost smile and it’s probably the last thing Dean’s expecting to see. "What?" 

"It's just... okay, totally inappropriate, but whenever people find out you have two dad's they ask like three questions. The first is like 'what's the worst thing about having two dad's?" 

"Don't you miss having a _motherly_ influence?" Emma pipes in, rolling her eyes. 

"Then number three is _who's the bottom_? And I always try and give the most inappropriate answer because it's such a dumb fucking question. Like, I'll be like, after much analysis I've decided that Dad's a power bottom because my Padre has deep rooted masculinity issues stemming from his troubled childhood, but I’m sure there’s reverse dom/sub undertones to their sex lives. Then I usually finish up by asking them about whether their fathers prefer oral sex or anal stimulation. I just... that's a really good answer. _Well in the past they've switched quite a lot, but now my Padre's got prostate cancer I guess they'll have to work something else out_." 

“We won't. Hopefully,” Dean says, then, “Backtrack. You _ask_ people whether their folks like anal stimulation? Holy hell, Claire, you’re awesome.” 

“Just as weird as them asking about your sex life,” Claire says defiantly, “Why would they think that’s an okay thing to make me think about?” 

“I got no idea,” 

“What kind of treatment?” Emma asks. 

“We get to pick,” Dean says, “Haven’t decided yet. We’ll keep you updated,” 

“It’s gonna be okay?” Claire asks, “Sure?” 

“Completely,” Castiel answers, firm and absolute. Emma stays quite, but nods then pushes herself off the counter and heads towards the coffee machine. Claire asks a few more, pretty demanding questions before she reaches her satisfaction-quota, then the evening just shifts forward. Sure, Emma _looks_ at him a lot, whilst Claire avoids his eye a little when they’re talking about _college_ and _classes_ and _dates_ , but then it just rolls into a conversation about Emma’s work. Then it’s time for food and marathon watching the last few episodes of that frigging awful show they used to watch on family night that none of them have been keeping up with lately, till the whole first evening has slipped by. 

It probably went as well as could be expected. 

* 

Dean’s all kinds of exhausted from a near-sleepless night having a minor freak out about both telling Claire and Emma about the cancer business and from worrying about Sam’s hospital appointment, followed by half a day at work where he was running on coffee and nervous energy, the Walmart dash and a pretty awesome evening with his kids. His back still hurts, like it’s being extra persistent now Dean has a name to throw at it, and he’s sat on the edge of their bed thinking they probably should all have called it a night hours ago. 

"Are you still in love with me?" Cas asks, not facing him, as he's undoing the top button of his shirt. Dean's halfway through plugging his cell into charge and is both _exhausted_ and thrown so thoroughly by the question that he doesn't answer immediately, which he gets is a huge fucking mistake the second Cas makes a wounded noise at the back of his throat. By the time Dean's turned around, Cas is headed to the door. 

"Fuck, Cas," Dean mutters, then he's abandoning his stupid cell to chase his damn husband down. He catches up with him at the foot of the stairs, where it looks like he’s about to head to the kitchen. His shirt’s half undone and Cas’ eyes are shinning and the question is ringing in his ear’s as though Cas screamed it at him, rather than just _asked_ like he was asking if Dean still wanted chili for dinner. Dean’s feels like he’s missed a few steps, his stomach is lurching, his head’s spinning, everything is just… _how can Cas not know?_ How can Dean have failed that badly? How can Cas _ask_ him that like it’s…. like it’s even some kind of possibility. Dean so fucking in love with Castiel it’s beyond part of his identity. Dean’s not sure anything about his life would make _frigging sense_ if it wasn’t for Cas. Cas has made his life mean something. Cas is… Cas every damn single thing. 

“What?” Cas asks, voice rough and deep, because Dean’s just staring at him rather than frigging well doing something, “What, Dean?” 

"Yeah,” Dean says, hoarse, “Yeah, Cas, obviously.” 

"You hesitated," Cas says, voice tight and too vulnerable. 

"Cause I didn't know you even had to ask," Dean says, "I love you. I am in love with you. Okay?" 

“Why?” Cas asks, eyes still shinning. He’s defiant and wounded and Dean kinda feels like he’s got his fist wrap around Dean’s heart and is using it as a stress ball, because it… this conversation doesn’t make any sense. Dean’s panicking and _frozen_ and so very, very lost. 

“What do you mean _why_?” Dean asks, “Cas, Cas, you…” 

“How am I supposed to know, Dean?” Cas demands, “Do you know the last time you said that to me?” 

“No, I –” 

"Claire had to prompt you to acknowledge that we're in love," 

"I know," Dean says, past the lump in his throat, "That was dumb. I'm in love with you." 

“You told her we weren’t considering separation because it was _expensive_ ,” 

“Cas,” 

“Now we just gotta act like we’re madly in love when Jake comes over,” Cas says, in what Dean _assumes_ is some kind of rough imitation of his voice, even if Cas is at least sparing him the air quotes. “You said the thing our favourite memories had in common was that they were ‘a long ass time ago’. You described our relationship lasting thirty five years as ‘kind of a miracle’. You said being irritated with me was a lifetime occupation and, my personal favourite, ‘it's been so great having all this time to reconnect with my husband after our kids moved out. I just love getting to be just us. It’s given our marriage such a boost. I feel _free_ again.’” 

“Cas, I… that’s not what…” 

“How am I supposed to _know_ if you're in love with me, Dean, when all you do is criticise and make persistently make quips about how terrible you find being married to me,” 

“I don’t, Cas, I don’…I,” Dean says, voice catching in his throat, “I don’t mean any of the stuff. It’s not… it’s the opposite of terrible,” 

“I know you’ve found my reluctance to acknowledge our issues frustrating Dean, but I don’t think you _understand_ that our marriage is the single thing in my life that I am clinging to at the moment. With Claire and Emma off living their lives, I have been depending on _us_ and your constant devaluation of our relationship is –” 

“I’m…” 

“Listen to me, Dean,” Cas interjects, voice commanding enough that whatever inadequate, shitty thing that Dean was going to say just dies in the back of his throat. “I am fully aware that you’re not being purposefully malicious, Dean. You are hurting. I understand that, but… but… my knee jerk reaction to your contempt is to close myself off or respond in kind and _it is not helping,_ ” 

“Castiel,” 

“I don’t think you’re aware of how you’ve been treating me. When you are nice to me… it’s about the past, or my _appearance_. You say I look nice and it feels insincere because I'm going grey and I need glasses and I've put on weight and I have _wrinkles_ and you don't like spending time with me, anymore. You'd rather spend time with your brother, or Benny, whilst the only friend I have left in Lawrence is Nora, because Samandriel moved and Uriel screwed over the company, and Muriel left. I cannot face attending church without Emma, so I haven’t been. I do miss my mother, Dean, but it’s more than that. My brothers haven't spoken since the funeral and I fear they never will, Gabriel is in the midst of a midlife crisis, as if his whole existence has been anything but a string of crises. I see Claire balancing her relationships with us and with Amelia and Alex with such maturity, and I am astounded that my brothers cannot hold a civil conversation when we have none of the background challenges that Claire does with Amelia. Claire and Emma have grown up and moved away and _I am lonely_. I believe I might even miss Zachariah when he retires, despite the fact that I _detest_ my job,” Cas says, his voice speeding up slightly, losing a little of its steely resolve. 

Dean’s sluggish brain has barely caught up with the fact that they’re actually having this conversation, or the fact that Cas is spewing more and more _stuff_ at him that Dean didn’t know was an issue. In his head he’s got Cas asking whether Dean’s still in love with him on repeat, whilst in front of him Cas has got his shoulders bunched up, his voice scattering into pure emotion and just… lack of composure. Cas losing his cool has always shaken him. Dean steps forward and grabs a handful of Cas’ half undone shirt on automatic, pulling him slightly closer. 

“The thought that I've wasted so many years there is hateful and I can no longer justify it to myself, despite the fact that I have always assured myself that it's worth it. I'm lonely and _miserable_ and I am not the man you thought I'd be and I am boring and disappointing and I cannot stand the way you talk about our relationship these days and now you're sick and everything's awful, Dean, and I don't know when having you and Claire and Emma alone wasn’t enough to make me happy, but it's not. I am selfish and awful but it's not. It’s not _enough_ to make up for everything else and I have no idea what I’m doing anymore,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, through this awful lump at the back of his throat, “Castiel, I am in love with you. Completely. Every day. Always. Forever, okay? I am so fucking sorry if I haven’t been making that _clear_ and all the stuff I said –” 

“– kiss me, Dean,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, pulling Cas in by a hand cupping the back of his neck, kissing him hard. Cas is shaking. Dean wouldn’t be surprise if the guy’s crying again and Dean’s got this massive chasm opening up in his chest and he’s falling into it, but he can’t do that. He can’t just _let himself_ get pulled in, plunge down into the dark, bottomless feeling of nothing, because Cas _needs him_ and has been needing him and Dean just… “Cas, Sweetheart, you are exactly the person I thought you’d be,” Dean mutters, chest to chest, Dean tracing out the line of Cas’ trembling lips the way Cas always does. “You aint boring. You’re the most unboring thing that’s ever happened to me, I promise. You’re _exceptional_ and you’re a damn miracle and I… I’ll do better, okay? I will, but you’ve got to talk to me.” 

"I was worried," 

"Talk to me about work.” 

"I hate it," Castiel says, shuddering. "I don't know where the time went, Dean, but it’s been over thirty years. That was never my intention. First, it was because I wanted to save for our future, then we were looking to buy a house, then saving for Emma and Claire and now I've ran out of reasons to justify it to myself. You were my motivation, but... that doesn’t make sense as a motivation anymore, because we’re financially secure and…Zachariah is retiring. I think the assumption is I take his role." 

"So quit," 

"Dean," Cas says, still shaking. 

"Cas," Dean counters, "We got savings. Emma's self-sufficient. We have her whole college fund as back up. If I'd have known that was part of the damn problem I'd have forged your resignation an age ago." 

"I'm not qualified to do anything else," 

"Bullshit," Dean says, "You've been managing people for twenty years. Talk about transferable skills. Anyway, you could go back to school. Get a masters. Another degree. Get a frigging PhD." 

"I don't... I'm out of practice with academia," 

"Then get back into practice. I can support us,” 

“I don’t know,” 

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “Cas, this is a lot, you know? Your Mom, Jess, Sam, your brother’s fighting again, Claire moving out, your friends moving, me acting like a fucking jackass… throw in going to a job you hate every damn day. No wonder you’re miserable.” 

"I... I apologies that... That I am selfish and ridiculous enough that you and our daughters aren't sufficient, even though you are everything." 

"You know what, Cas? I got you, I got my dream family, my brother lives just down the road, I _like_ my job and I'm still kind of miserable, cause Sam's widowed, Bobby's been talking like he's on his frigging death bed, you're unhappy and I've got fucking cancer. They're pretty valid reasons, man. Sometimes that's just life. Being unhappy - sometimes it just happens." 

"I don't want you to have prostate cancer." 

"Snap," Dean says, "Cas, why the hell would you think you’re boring?" Dean asks, hand still cupping the back of Cas’ neck, other hand still bunched up in Cas’ shirt. Cas trembles and it feels like a fucking earthquake. 

"I have worked in the same eight thirty till six job since I was twenty two. I drive a company car. I want to redo the kitchen. I no longer have a social life." 

"Cas I'm not exactly James Dean, here, we're both boring as fuck. We're middle aged and normal. It's amazing, actually," Dean says, glancing up at the ceiling. "Is this what my twenty two year old self thought it was gonna be? Are we the people I figured we’d be? No, we’re not… and, yeah, I think they'd be kind of horrified, but they were also total fucking idiots," 

Cas huffs a laugh and an actual tear drop falls from his eyelashes. That counts as the fifth time in living history Dean seen him cry which probably means it’s about the fifth time the guy has cried since he hit adulthood, because Dean would have been there. He would’ve. Even if he’s stuck in his own head and crappy sometimes, he’d have been there if Cas was actually crying. He’d have made sure of it. 

"Come on, we're talking about the guy who ran off chasing ghosts cause his boyfriend went to visit his family two weekends in a row and the guy who slept with some shmuck called Bartholomew because of it. We were total dickbags with no clue what we needed. We didn’t know jack shit about anything,” 

"This is true," 

"We can both be kind of miserable and still know we got a sweet setup." 

"Yes," 

"And we're not doing up the kitchen," 

"It's dated," 

"No need to cry about it though, darling," Dean says, leaning sideways to brush one of those fucking tears away. He wins a smile, if nothing else, “Cas, I’m…”

“I don’t _want_ you to apologise to me, Dean. I want… I just want everything to be _good_ again.” 

“I can do that,” Dean says, swallowing back his desire to succumb to that crappy voice at the back of his head that’s telling him this is all his fault. It kind of is, to an extent. He should have sat up and taken notice of all that was happening with Cas, but… but Cas purposefully kept him out and all this _stuff_ bounced off each other and magnified. Dean’s pretty sure frigging Muriel moving upstate wouldn’t have bothered the guy if the other stuff hadn’t come before, but it’s… its everything together and all at once. It’s all of being stuffed down and muted so Cas could keep doing the stable-fatherhood gig – which he is _ace_ at – and Dean doing the same. Thing is, Dean’s not sure he’d do it different. He’d still keep Claire and Emma sheltered from how bad losing Jess hurt, and how lost Dean was feeling when Sam moved to Lawrence and Dean couldn’t fix anything. Cas would probably still be the one making Emma cups of tea the morning after they found out Naomi died, like Cas hadn’t spent the whole night drinking and refusing to talk to Dean about any of it. He’s pretty sure, retrospectively, they’d make the same damn choices. Not just because Emma and Claire are delicate kids, either, because Dean’s pretty sure those excuses don’t fly anymore; maybe they both had pretty traumatising starts and, yeah, Dean see’s glimpses of it ever so often (in Emma especially), but they’re adults. They’re _actual_ grown ups who are probably still going to make a lot of dumb mistakes, but who can handle things nevertheless. 

Doesn’t mean that Dean isn’t nearly choking on the desire to protect them from all the crappy, rubbish things that happen in the world, like _cancer_ and _death_ and losing their grandparents. They couldn’t protect them from all of it, obviously. They’ve had a pretty tough run for kids – women – their age, Dean reckons. 

"We should go someplace. Europe or Asia or something,” Dean says, voice low. 

"We can't drive to Europe," 

"I'll buckle up and drink my way through it. Italy. Ireland. England." 

"I'd like that," 

"And our sex life," Dean says, "I know I'm know pretty vanilla by your standards, but we could shake things up. Could get some frigging suspenders and heals to match the panties. Could go on that TV show where they hypnotise you so you forget what sex feels like so you can get dehymenated again," 

"I'm entirely sure that show is scripted and fake," Cas says, "It feeds into virginity being more than a social construct and -"

"-and it's hilarious?" 

“- _and_ most 'virgins' have no idea what they're doing and are consequently terrible." 

"That's why we'd take it in turns. So one of us would know what we’re doing." 

"You've thought about this too much," Cas says, but he’s smiling. Those special kind of Dean smiles that always make Dean feel like his won the damn lottery, even when he’s having the worst day and the worst conversation. His insides are threatening to tear themselves apart but Cas is _smiling_ , so at least something just has to be okay. Cas doesn’t smile unless there’s a reason too. More than he used to, though, when they were barely out of their teens. He smiles a helluva lot more than he did when they met. 

"Reckon Virgin Castiel would be kinda cute," Dean shrugs, "All awkward and nervous." 

"You thought I was cute when I had Nora virus," 

"How pathetic you were about it was cute. Baby in a trench coat." 

"There’s nothing wrong with our sex life,” Cas says, “And we don’t need to go on holiday,” 

“I’m talking big picture stuff here, Cas,” Dean says, “You’re gonna quit your job and we’ll find you something new. We’re gonna go visiting Lucifer and Michael some point in the next couple of months – I’ll call them tomorrow, get something pencilled in. I’m gonna spend less time with Sam. We’re gonna clear a weekend at some point before Christmas and hang out. I’ll ask Emma whether she’s got a new church lined up in Kansas City and whether you could go crash her style or else, hell, I’ll go to frigging church with you… we can reinstall date night and I’ll be good to you, Cas, I promise. We can get you a bad midlife crisis car and we’ll _go places_ and I won’t quit telling you how fucking gone I am on you till you’re fed up of hearing it. And we’re going to get you some frigging glasses if you need them, dumbass. I’ll come with and pick you out some hot librarian ones and tell you you look cute. Which you do, all the damn time, _with_ the three grey hairs you have and all the other crap you mentioned.” 

“Thank you,” Cas blinks, tucking his face into Dean’s neck, letting Dean wrap his arms around him. Cas’ hands land on the exact point of Dean’s back which is still aching, because _of course_ the guy knows Dean’s body by heart, and knows exactly how it works. The ache dissipates slightly when Cas’ soft touch is resting there. “Dean,” Cas says, quiet, “I don’t think the television was on next door when we came downstairs.” 

“Claire,” Dean breathes, “Gotta say, I thought you were joking when you suggested arguing in front of her too,” Dean says, which gets him a squinty frown, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” 

“But…”

“Nope, sorry champ, you’re the priority right now. She’ll be fine,” Dean says, pushing Cas’ hair away from his forehead and noting that Cas probably needs a haircut at some point soon, not that the length thing isn’t pretty cute. It’s just nearing the point where Cas will start bitching about it. “You wanna head back upstairs and cuddle?” 

*

He gave Cas half an hour to reset before he made a move to turn off the light, but it’s been fifteen minutes since then and Dean’s alert. Cas is still awake too, tucked loosely in Dean’s arms. The exhaustion’s given way to just rehashing the conversation they just had over and over in his head, till he’s reached the point where he’s damn near convinced that they haven’t achieved anything. It felt like they were achieving something when he had Cas grasping at him downstairs, but now his brain’s kicked in. 

“As much as I dislike the extra time you’ve been spending with Benny, I must say there are rewards,” Cas says into the quiet, running a thumb along Dean’s bicep. Dean’s kinda glad that Cas is the one to break the silence, given they both know that the other one’s awake. They’ve got decades of experience to know when the other’s sleeping or not. At this point, Dean’s pretty sure he’d be able to say, with high accuracy, whether or not Cas was conscious or not from a different state. 

“Is that Cas talk for _damn, you’ve been working out_ ,”

“Your arms are very pleasing,” 

“Dude,” 

“I’ve always liked them a great deal,” Cas says, absently measuring out the width of his muscle with his hand span, tracking it with his thumb and finger. “You make me feel protected when you hold me.” 

Dean can’t touch that right now, because they’ve had too many conversations over the years where Dean has painstakingly communicated his deep seated need to _feel_ like he’s supporting Cas. It’s a wanting-to-be-a-man thing based on whacked concepts of masculinity and it always has been, but it’s there and Dean’s pretty sure he’s stuck with it. Dumb compliments about his muscles feed that and makes him feel strong and worthy and just, yeah, it’s good. Cas knows that. Cas is feeding this need he’s half-ashamed of even having, but his sincere enough about it that Dean actually believes him. He doesn’t feel like he deserves Cas saying nice shit to him right now, though. 

“Guess I’ve been hitting the gym pretty hard,” 

“I diagnose stress,” 

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, curling his arms around him some more, burying his nose in the back of his neck, “I told you that I’m in love with you lately?” 

“Hmm, you may have mentioned it,” Cas says, voice soft and lovely, then it shifts, “But that’s not what you wanted to say. I can _feel_ you getting tenser. There’s something else you wish to talk about,” 

“Beginning to see where Emma gets it,” Dean sighs, slackening his hold on Cas and rolling away slightly. Cas follows his movement, eyes fixed on him. Dean exhales and closes his eyes for a second. 

“My powers of deduction are only applicable to you,” Cas says, “And perhaps our children.” 

“There’s was a whole area of your speech I didn’t address,” 

“It wasn’t a speech, Dean, it was a breakdown,” 

“Maybe,” Dean says, sitting up and reaching for the light, “But I have one of those every other week. You’re not going to like it,” Dean says, leaning back against the headboard, “And believe me, Cas, I don’t wanna piss you off, but I gotta say my piece. It’s about all the stuff I said. The stuff you quoted at me,” 

“Okay,” Cas says, squinting at him. 

“Not an apology exactly. You said you didn’t want one and, honestly, I dunno if that’s… that’d be taking the easy way out. It’d only gives you half the picture. Just, promise you won’t get mad until I’m done.” 

“Fine,” 

“Just... Cas, you were acting like everything was fine. Like you didn't see a damn thing wrong. I was neck deep in water and you hadn't noticed the ship was sinking and I'm yelling at you to get the damn life jacket but you're too busy talking about nice the view is over the sea to listen to me. I get _why_ , now, but I didn’t know. I wanted you to get it, Cas, and that meant being straight up and honest. Lined up like that sure as hell sounds like I overshot and wound up being mean –” 

“– you told me I was making you unhappy,” 

“- I know, Cas, and it was a shitty thing to say,” Dean says, running a hand over his face and clenching his jaw, “But I... I needed you to listen to me, Cas, and if that meant cutting a little deep –” 

“So you meant those things?” 

“No,” Dean says, “I mean, not really. I was unhappy. That wasn't a lie. Wasn't _you_ that was making me unhappy, but it kinda was _because_ of you. Cause I was worried about you and us and just... all of it. It's... I was alone in this thing, too. Hell, Cas, you say those things back to me I feel like the biggest fucking jerk, but sometimes you push me out and you stonewall me and the only way I can get back in is to piss you off. If I knew you were feeling insecure then I wouldn't have even considered it, and I'm not saying that was the best way I could've dealt, but they... when I say shitty things like that, I'm looking for a reaction. I'm looking for you to yell back the stuff I really should know about. It... they weren't supposed to hurt you. You gotta believe that, Cas, it's killing me to think you might think that, but there was intention behind all of it. It was a strategy, same as how pushing you into a corner with the couples therapy thing was a strategy.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Cas says, voice dangerous. 

“You said you wouldn’t get pissed,” 

“In what reality would you telling me you were _purposefully_ contemptuous not piss me off?” 

“It wasn’t on _purpose_ , Cas,” Dean snaps, “This is why I wanted you to hear me out, Cas. You wanna get mad at me when I’m done, fine. I’m not saying I don’t deserve it.” 

“Fine,” Cas says, rearranging his voice, “How can it be a strategy whilst also not being on purpose?” 

“I didn’t think, hey, you know what’s a good idea? What if I act like an asshole to my husband and see if it gets a reaction. It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t a _conscious_ strategy. I just don’t think it’s fair for you to think it was some random lashing out because I was hurting. Cause it was, but it’s _deeper_ than that. I’ve been doing it for years cause… sometimes you're impenetrable, Castiel. When you shut me out sometimes it feels like you're not even human and I just... I fucking hate it. Always hated it. So, yeah, I do and say dumb things to try and get you back with me. And sometimes it works.” 

“I remember you overtly trying to piss me off after Bartholomew,” 

“Right,” Dean says, “Because you’d just shut me down. You wouldn’t _talk_ , Cas, so I tried to rile you up and it worked and you yelled at me and we moved forward. It’s like that. I’ve been doing it since _before_ that, because you… I need you, man, and when you shut me down it feels like you’re not there and I can’t handle it and it… it doesn’t matter what I say or do, because you’re not listening and you don’t react. It feels like you don’t’ _care_. So, yeah, maybe I should just grow the fuck up but…. I guess it just became part of how I respond to you when you’re closing yourself off. Guess it became passive aggressive dickishness and I am _sorry_ , Cas, but it... that’s where it comes from,” 

“I see,” Castiel says. 

“Know that aint a good enough justification. Not really supposed to be. Just figured you should know all the facts before you go about trying to forgive me for crap,” Dean says, “You see why I told you?” 

“I do,” Cas nods, “Yes, thank you.” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, swallowing. Cas doesn’t say anything further. He’s just quiet and pensive. "Night, Cas," Dean continues, leaning over to switch off the light. He’s pretty much killed the positive vibe, but he feels better for it. He feels like he’s gotten everything he needed to off his chest. It didn’t help. It did the exact opposite of clearing the air…. But it was necessary. They _needed_ to talk about it, even if it’s left a sour taste in his mouth, and even if Cas looks a hell of a lot less happy than he did before Dean started talking. Cas catches his bicep before he can get to the switch. 

"Dean," 

"Yeah," Dean exhales, swallowing. 

"I did specifically return Meg's message for exactly the reasons you detailed at our therapy appointment,” 

"I know," 

"How do you always know?" 

"Dude, I've lived with you since I was a teenager. I know your illicit text face, cause most of the time those texts are coming my way." 

"We were discussing a gift for her step daughter and they _were_ innocent, but you know that,' 

"Yep," Dean says, popping the p. "Sure do, Sweetheart," 

"I wasn't intending to upset you, either." 

"Yeah, I know," Dean breathes, "Hell, Cas, if I had all that stuff going on and I wasn't getting the support I need I'd have done the same or worse. Do, in fact, with Sam or Benny - like you said - just without the... 

“Suggestion of flirtation,” 

“Right, that. It's near enough the same. You don't have all that many solid friendships around as you used to. I haven’t been considering that.” 

“You were right to get angry at me,” 

“Snap,” Dean says. 

“But I – ” 

“Don't go selling yourself short, Sunshine, I was letting you down plenty,” 

Cas’ eyes narrow. 

“Is that… does that satisfy your criteria for a constructive argument? Is that… resolved?” 

“Both explained why we did what we did, both of us understand the other side of the argument, both admitted we were wrong…. Yeah, I’d say that’s full resolution status achieved, there. Only took a frigging month.” 

“Twenty six days,” 

“Cause that’s so much better,” Dean says, “I know this is usually the point we go for the resolution-inspired make up sex, but…” 

“I agree,” Cas says, “It doesn’t feel like that kind of resolution. Goodnight, Dean.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, leaning over for the light, then settling back in bed. “Good talk,” 

“However, this is not the kind of resolution where you can stay all the way over there,” Cas says, scooting over to Dean’s side of the bed and placing his cold hands on Dean’s stomach, presumably to warm them up. Dean makes a noise of protest at the back of his throat but doesn’t move, because he feels pretty raw and knowing that Cas isn’t mad enough to hold physical affection ransom helps. “I’m very much in love with you, Dean.” 

“Yeah, love you too, Cas," Dean says, but it feels a lot like hard work to say it, and that's enough for Dean to stay awake half the night trying to backtrack over the past few months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse if there's lots of errors in this... I was working on my antique netbook that takes ten minutes to load a single Web page and will stop working completely if you try and load two at once. Managing to copy and paste an entire 9k of words without it crashing felt like a big achievement, so I did editing on my phone which I am terrible at.
> 
> Also THESE CHAPTERS NEED TO STOP GETTING SO LONG AND ENDING WITH SLEEP. IT'S SO DUMB.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s pretty sure he’s spent a reasonable percentage of his life since Emma and Claire hit puberty trying to get them up in the morning, so it’s weird that apparently they’ve skidded past _that_ stage to the point where he comes down to the kitchen at half nine to find both of his kids already up and doing breakfast. It’s a lot less chaotic than it used to be at the stage before the last one, when they were still in single figures and so eager to get on with the day that they’d be chasing Dean and Cas’ heals to get them awake and entertaining them; it’s, like, they’ve reached this new normal where having children has suddenly become easy. Emma looks like she’s been up for a while, leaning against the counter with an empty cup of coffee clutched in her hands. Claire is halfway through making toast. Their conversation stalls when he walks in (which Dean’s pretty sure means they were talking about either the marital problems or the cancer), fresh from the shower but feeling the exact frigging opposite to _fresh_. His feels like walking talking crap, but is pretty much intending to squash that down for the sake of his kids, even if that’s part of what got them in this mess in the first place. 

“Morning, Padre,” Emma smiles, “Dad still asleep?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, taking a seat at the table and resting his head on his left hand. He’d pretty much been too much of a coward to wake Cas up, lest Cas was pissed about the pile of crap Dean dumped on him yesterday. He didn’t exactly sleep well. “Reckon he’ll surface in a bit. What's the plan today, folks?” Dean asks, mainly to get the conversation moving forward so it can’t focus in on him. 

“Emma's meeting the parents,” Claire pipes up, stepping round Emma get the peanut butter out of the cupboard. 

“They're from the other side of Lawrence,” Emma says, ringing her hands. 

“That's some west side story shit right there,” 

“Padre,” Emma complains. 

“This is serious, Padre,” Claire nods, “This is a very serious thing that is happening in Emma's life.” 

“Quit mocking me,” 

“Nah, meeting the parents is crap, I totally relate to your pain. Although, with Cas it was meeting _the parent_ and she'd already met me and shunned the guy's graduation because she didn't like me, but we don't talk about that,” Dean says, “There any coffee going?” 

“Machine’s bust,” Claire says, “And _what?_ Grandma Naomi didn't come to your college graduation? She insisted on coming to our frigging high school graduations, even though they’re, like, the most pointless things ever,” 

“Yeah, she turned it around. Things with her and Cas were pretty touch and go for a while. Much better grandparent than mother. Still, pretty amazing woman to kick her pride in to touch like that," 

"Why are we talking about my mother?" Cas asks, stepping into the kitchen. For some unfathomable reason, he's wearing Dean's dressing gown. He catches Dean's eye, too, and Dean feels inexplicably nervous all at once. Yesterday was pretty intense. Their conversations are still pretty raw. Dean feels like the biggest piece of trash and _Cas_ just had to fucking come in at the point where they’re discussing Naomi. Of course he did. That’s just how Dean’s luck works. "Hello, Dean," 

"Hey Cas," Dean says, swallowing. There's a few beats of silence too many, before Dean dislodges his voice from the back of his throat. "Nice get up," 

"It's yours," 

"Yeah," 

"Wow," Claire says, "Okay, can you guys quit acting like some blushing virgins on a first date? It's too early for this crap," 

"Yes," Cas says, clearing his throat, and pulling out the seat opposite Dean. Cas actually looks well rested. He looks pretty cheerful, all things considered, which throws Dean off even more. He has the softer version of his resting-frowny-face on and he’s wearing Dean’s dressing gown and _staring_ at him. "Why were we discussing my mother?" 

"Emma's meeting the parents today," 

"Ah," Cas says, "I yelled at John Winchester the first time I saw him after your father and I became involved." 

"I saved my yelling for Lucifer and Michael." 

"I was very irritated about that. Of course, most of my family were aware that you'd already slept with Anna." 

"Are we still not over that?" 

"I think Bobby liked me initially," Cas says thoughtfully, "Perhaps a little polite distrust." 

"Bobby ain't polite. And you're the only boy I ever bought home, he probably didn't know what to expect." 

"Sam liked me," Cas says, which is true. Sam has always been a Cas cheerleader, even if there’s been a couple of hiccups on the way. Even now, Dean’s pretty sure that if he rang Sam up and told him he needed to _not_ see Sam as much to keep Cas happy, Sam would be a hundred percent with the plan. Dean’s pretty much leaving it for Sam to work out, though, cause being prepared to do it doesn’t necessarily translate to being able to straight up say it to Sam’s face. 

"Gabriel not so much," 

"You really aren't making me feel better about any of this," Emma says, voice curt. 

"Good news is, if you're still together in thirty five years’ time, they'll all have gotten over it, or be unable to comment,” 

“Except Michael. He hasn't gotten over it.” 

“That is _good news_ ,” Emma says, eyes flashing. “Does anyone else want coffee?” 

“Passive aggressive coffee offers, love that,” Claire says, looking up from her toast, “And yes please. Two sugars, caramel syrup and cream,” 

“This ain't Starbucks, lady,” Dean says, “And seriously, Emma, who wouldn't love you?” 

“You have to say that, it’s fatherly duty,” Emma says, ringing her hands and jabbing at the coffee machine. It still isn’t working properly and Dean can’t really be bothered to fix it. It’d probably be up there in his priorities list if there weren’t so many other things going on. It’s approximately six points below telling Benny about the cancer-thing before someone brings it up at Thanksgiving (Sam spoke to his brood last night, which Dean’s sure sucked given what happened with Jess, but Robbie has about as much tact as a brick wall, so it’s probably going to be bought up at some point) and looking up new jobs for Cas. 

“I said it’s bust. And screw that,” Claire says, taking an aggressive bite of her peanut butter smothered toast, then continuing to speak through a mouthful of it, “It pisses me off that you’re still so convinced that people won’t like you, like those _fuckers_ from school knew anything. Yeah, you’re uptight and a pain in the ass sometimes, but you’re _awesome_. You’re passionate and compassionate and you get shit done. And the shit you get done is great so, just, quit letting some jerks from high school effect your life.” 

“Claire, please swallow before you speak,” Cas says, “Although yes, I completely agree.” 

“So it’s only endearing when Padre does it?” 

“Dean is a lost cause,” Castiel says simply, then meets his eye again and smiles slightly. Dean’s stomach flips over slightly, in a way that’s equal parts nerves and guilt. Goddamnit. “At eighteen, you’re still very malleable,” 

“Was eighteen when you met me,” Dean says, “Could have kicked me into shape back then, Mr Logic,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “But you were very cute,” 

Cas is frigging _flirting_ with him, which is just not what Dean was expecting this morning. Not even a little bit. He’d been anticipating irritation or Robo-Cas, but certainly not this soft, warm, flirty version of Cas. He basically loves this version of Cas (not that he doesn’t love all of them, really, but Cas like this makes him feel like he’s won the frigging lottery and it’s almost impossible not to respond in kind), but it’s just… it doesn’t make sense, damnit. Cas should be pissed at him. 

“We’re getting off topic,” Claire says, “Point is, Em, you’re gonna knock their socks off. Besides, if he likes you, then who the hell cares about what his Mom and Dad think? I’m assuming he’s gone one of each. He seemed kind of square like that.” 

“He’s not square,” Emma says, still ringing he hands, frowning into the kitchen. Dean raises his eyebrows slightly and regrets it the second Emma meets his eye and _glares_. “ _Fine_ ,” Emma snaps, “He’s square. But you know who else is square? You two. You have the squarest, most predictable life _and_ marriage and your _stupid_ argument is starting to piss me off.” 

“Noted,” Dean says, swallowing, “Sorry,” 

“Whatever,” Emma huffs, “ _Why_ is the coffee machine broken?” 

“Emma,” Cas says, “I’m aware you’re nervous about meeting Jake’s parents, however that isn’t Dean’s, myself, or the coffee machine’s fault.” 

“Point still stands though,” Claire says, “There’s instant in the cupboard,” 

“I know,” Emma says, fists clenched, “I’m _sorry_ , I just…”

“Apology accepted,” Dean says, standing up to get the instant coffee out, “Don’t sweat it,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, “It’s…”

“Too early to be bickering,” Dean interjects, “Did we establish who wants coffee?” 

“I’m going to shower,” Cas declares, turning round, voice slightly terse and heading back out the kitchen. Dean feels a little like banging his head off the kitchen table in protest of how frigging confusing this morning’s been, but Claire and Emma are there and Dean’s supposed to be an adult. Forget adult, he’s supposed to be middle aged. Godamnit. 

“What’s up with Dad?” Emma asks, eyes fixed on where he's disappeared. She must be really stressed out to be actually asking _Dean_ about Cas’ emotional state, like he has a frigging clue. That probably means Dean’s at fault in some way or other, because if Emma is really freaking out then Dean should probably have been a little more sensitive. 

“Cheerful yet with a major stick up his ass. You’re the one with the high EQ, Em, you tell me,” 

“Did you have another argument last night?” 

“Yes,” Claire supplies, taking another bite of toast, “They did,” 

“We had a _talk_ last night,” Dean corrects, gaze still fixed on the place where Cas disappeared. It’s not as though the guy was exactly unfair to call Emma out, because… yeah, she’s projecting her emotions at them all over the shop, but he usually has a lot more grace for things like that. Yeah, he can come own a little harsh on the strict fatherhood routine occasionally but… 

“Sounded like an argument to me,” Claire says. 

“That I will talk to you about later,” Dean says, waving a finger in her direction, “Just, things are pretty intense right now.” 

“I could talk to him,” Emma volunteers. She’s finally stopped ringing her hands to look at him straight, but Dean can’t tell if jumping on their marital issues is just a distraction technique or whether she really wants to go talk to Cas, but either way it’s definitely not her job. Letting Emma patch them up isn’t going to help them in the long run. 

“It's okay, Princess, pretty sure it's my responsibility. I'll go check on him,” Dean says, standing up, “When are you heading off?” 

“Now,” Emma says, glancing at her cell phone for the time then grimacing, “What if they hate me?” 

Dean stalls mid-motion. 

“I’ve got this,” Claire says, gesturing to Emma, “Go sort Dad out,” 

Dean hesitates for half a second before he figures that Claire probably _has_ got it under control and is probably much better equipped to help Emma than he is, then forces himself into motion and into heading after Cas. He can only deal with so many members of his family’s crises at once, and Cas is the one mysteriously storming off to the shower after breaking his stepford-super-chirper-shtick. 

"Cas," Dean says, pushing open the door of their bedroom, then into their bathroom in response to the 'yes' that comes from beyond the door. "You okay, hotstuff?" Dean asks, as Cas leans into the shower to turn it on, testing the water with his fingers. Dean flips the lid of the toilet down to take a seat, watching. 

"Fine, Dean," Cas says. 

"Really?" 

"Yes," Cas says. 

"Cause even our kids are noticing you being weird this morning," 

"I haven't had any coffee yet," 

"Cut the bullshit, babe, it don't cut it." 

"I'm not your _babe_ ," Cas says, "I am fine, Dean. I feel more fine than I have for a while, in fact. I thought our conversation yesterday was very productive," 

"You mean your breakdown," 

"Yes," Cas says, shedding his pyjama bottoms and his boxers, testing the water again. They’ve been stupidly domestic for a long ass time, but it still throws him for a second when Dean realises how startlingly ordinary it is to see Cas naked, compared to the early days where even a _hint_ of Cas considering declothing could distract him for hours. Cas send him a goddamn one second picture of his dick, for fuck’s sake, and Dean lost his mind over it. Now Cas is benignly stripping and Dean’s too nonplussed by it to even check him out. It’s not the time, anyway. 

"I kinda feel I hijacked the conversation with my crap," Dean says, which gets almost no response. 

“Are you coming?” Cas says, pausing in the doorway of the shower. 

“I already showered,” 

“And?” 

“Okay,” Dean says peeling off his shirt and pants, as Cas gets in before him. He takes a few more seconds to work out what it is he wants to say (because this is a hundred percent a distraction tactic), before getting in after the guy. "I didn't mean to take the focus of you, Cas. That wasn't ... I should've waited," Dean says, feeling a little dumb and quite naked, stood outside the spray of the water and watching Cas wash his hair. Cas is just as nonplussed by Dean being bare ass naked as Dean is, not even turning around to meet his eye. 

“No,” Cas says, “I understand,” 

“Cas,” 

“I feel very optimistic,” 

“Yay, I guess,” Dean says, frowning at him. He just doesn’t _know_ what’s going on in Cas’ head. He’s tried and a little miserable and Cas is acting like everything has been resolved, and Dean’s completely fucking lost track over what’s been resolved and what hasn’t been resolved. Yeah, he’s pretty sure they’ve moved past the dumb Meg argument, but… but it didn’t exactly feel like the kind of resolution where everything’s okay again. It kind of felt like they pealed back the layers of the argument and found a frigging grenade under it. 

“Although you're letting in the cold air,” 

Dean rolls his eyes and shuts the shower cubicle door, letting Cas pull him in with his soapy hands and kiss him. 

"You taste like soap," Dean grimaces, pulling a face. Cas beams, pushing him outside the scope of the spray, boxed against one of the shower walls, then kisses him again. He still tastes a little shampoo-y and it’s not great, but it’s hard to complain too hard when Cas is smiling that widely. Cas hasn’t properly smiled for a while. It figures, given everything that’s been running round in the guy’s head, but it’s not as comforting as it probably should be. 

"Good morning," Cas says, using one of those soap covered hands to tilt his face down to meet his. "Mmm," 

"Cas," 

"I know you're concerned, Dean," Cas says, half in the spray, a dribble of shampoo tainted water tracking down his neck, hair flattened to his skulk with water, "But I promise you its okay.” 

"How?” Dean asks, as Cas crowds him against the shower door and kisses him again. Nothing more than that. It’s a pretty damn chaste kiss considering they’re both naked, which just makes it six times more confusing. Dean pretty much understands sex and, more so, understands sex with Cas. This is just Cas kissing him in the shower though, which has happened plenty of times before, just not with the surrounding context. 

"I love you,” Cas says, like that _achieves_ anything. It’s good to be reminded of, obviously, but it doesn’t do anything to help Dean’s tension headache or the growing feeling of dread sitting in his stomach. Cas, who seems pretty much oblivious to Dean’s inner turmoil, just steps back into the water and, in doing so, manages to get shampoo in Dean’s face. 

*

“Claire Bear, you got plans for today?” 

“Nope,” Claire says, popping the P and looking up from Dean’s tablet, which she apparently nicked to catch up on the news. “Did you shower again?” Claire asks, eyes narrowing at him. He can’t reasonable deny it, given that Dean’s hair is suddenly wet again and he was last seen heading off to talk to Cas, who was shower bound. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t believe him if he told her it was all above board, either, (which it _was_ , thanks very much) so there’s no point trying. 

“That a crime now?” 

“So gross,” Claire says, reaching for her coffee and rolling her eyes, “I fixed the machine,” 

“Awesome,” Dean says, “Catch,” 

“What?” Claire asks, reaching up to catch the impala keys on instinct, then turning them over in her palm and grinning. “You serious?” 

“Unless you had enough driving yesterday,” 

“Enough of driving _my_ car, maybe,” Claire says, spinning the keys through her fingers, “We just gonna hit the road and drive?” 

“I’m in if you are,” Dean says, “Having some goddamn coffee first, though,” 

“Sweet,” Claire beams, “Bring a flask,” 

“Kinda lame,” 

“Suck it up, Padre,” Claire says, up of her seat and heading for the cupboard. The flask technically belongs to Cas, but Emma has had it in her possession pretty much the whole time since she moved out, short of a few months when she finally bought her own and returned it. Dean doesn’t like it on principle, really. 

“Hello, Claire,” Cas says, wondering back into the kitchen. 

“Good shower?” Claire asks pointedly, jabbing the machine into action. 

“Watch it, misses,” Dean says, “I’m only holding my tongue here cause you fixed the coffee machine,” 

“Remember that time you told me I’d never be allowed to drive Baby ever for as long as you breathed?” 

“You really wanna remind me of that right now?” Dean asks, even though any hostile feeling he ever had about Claire stealing his car are pretty much dead and gone and, hey, it only took two years. She’s pretty much proved that she both does respect and love baby as much as Dean does (a miracle, really) and that she’s the natural inheritor of Baby when Dean’s too crooked and slow to drive her anymore. 

“We’re going for a drive,” Claire grins, “Wanna come, Dad?” 

“No, thank you,” Cas says. 

“Here,” Claire says, placing a coffee down in front of Cas with a smile, tucking one of the locks of purple hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, I asked first,” Dean interjects, without any real feeling. Given she heard an unknown amount of their argument yesterday, it’s kind of surprising she’s being as nice to Dean as she is. He didn’t exactly come out of that conversation all that well. 

“Thank you, Claire,” Cas says, “Is Emma okay?” 

“She’s a tough cookie,” Claire shrugs, “And I can’t imagine Jake’s parents being anything other than harmless,” 

“Are we harmless by your book?” Dean asks, as Claire makes him up a flask of coffee, still spinning the impala keys through her fingers. 

“Relatively, yeah,” Claire grins, “But that’s why I love you dumbasses,” 

“Awh, shucks,” Dean says. 

“What’s bought this on?” 

“It’s good to be reminded sometimes, right?” Claire says, setting Dean’s coffee on the table in front of him. Dean’s stomach flips over and that pretty much answers his question of ‘how much did Claire hear’ without him having to ask. “That and Dad’s letting me drive the sacred vehicle.” 

“Alright, let’s get gone,” Dean says, standing up, “See you later, Cas,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss him before reaching for his jacket, leaving Cas sat at the breakfast table with his coffee. 

*

“This, right here, is known in most places as ‘speeding’,” Dean says, as the hit the highway out of town hard, and Claire hits the gas just as hard. 

“Like you wouldn’t drive this fast,” 

“Since when have I been a role model? Ease off the gas,” 

“Fine,” Claire sighs, flexing her fingers on the steering wheel, “So what’s the deal with the cancer thing?” 

“We’re starting with that?” Dean grimaces, taking a sip of his coffee for something to give him a pause in conversation, “Went to the doc because Cas had been nagging me about my back ache. They ran some tests and told me I probably had it, then they ran some more and confirmed. Early stages. Completely curable, just gotta pick my poison.” 

“What are the options? Chemo?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, “It’s radiation or surgery. They both sounds pretty shitty.” 

“Which is more effective?” 

“There’s a note about the radiation which says you might have to have surgery after, so surgery I guess,” 

“So do that,” 

“Not that simple, Claire bear,” Dean says, “And watch your speed,” 

“Oh come on, Padre, I’m barely breaking the law,” Claire says, but she’s already shifted her foot off the gas slightly, and the Impala is gradually slowing to something that’s near enough the speed limit that Dean’s not about to bitch anymore, “And why isn’t it that simple?” 

“Side effects,” Dean says, “Surgery’s pretty risky, both might fuck that whole system up. There’s a leaflet on it if you want.” 

“I’m not reading a frigging leaflet,” 

“Cas liked the leaflets,” 

“Of course he did,” Claire says, rolling her eyes, “Okay. As long as you have it under control,” 

“We do,” Dean says, “So, I’m guessing that’s the reason you’re not chewing me out for what you overheard last night,” Dean continues, watching her. Her eyes stay fixed on the road, but she tenses slightly. She _suits_ Baby in a way that Emma was never going to. Emma always understood why Dean was so attached to the Impala and treated it with a vague amount of fond affection, but she never _got it_. Emma never asked to drive the impala, and she certainly never stole it without Dean’s consent. Cas treats Baby with a certain amount of respect and is definitely attached to her, but pretty much only because she’s important to Dean. Claire, though, has got a spark of that reverence for her. Claire would look after her. 

“I'm good at reading people too, you know,” Claire says, after a half a minute of silence. 

“Never said you weren't,” 

“It was implied,” 

“Really?” 

“Well, yeah,” Claire says, “You're always talking about how perceptive Emma is like I'm some kind of emotionally constipated troll. I know you don't mean it like that I just...” 

“Where's this coming from?” Dean asks, feeling a crease form in his forehead. He’s pretty much ready to give up on trying to understand today, because Cas is baffling and now Claire is taking him down some weird conversational route, he’s tired, he’s got the beginnings of a headache and he’s nearly run out of coffee. 

“There's this girl at college who has this theory that everyone's parents have screwed them up in at least six different ways and it's a vital part of your journey into adulthood to forgive them, or something. And everyone was jumping all over it, you know? And at first I couldn't think of much. So I defaulted to Amelia. I mean, it's not of their business, wouldn't have even talked to them about it if it I hadn't drank too much,” 

“Coffee, I'm assuming,” 

“Right, I was so darn caffeinated that I started telling them about Amelia and Alex and the rest,” Claire says, with one of her best scornful smiles. “They were kind of weirded out, you know? That when you took me in I was still getting dosed up on methadone? That my mom went to prison. All of that. And then I was thinking more, because... in this family, that's a whatever. It's like because Emma has this massive trauma, that my pain is like... not a big deal,” 

“Claire,” 

“And, I dunno, I guess I started thinking, and I think sometimes you were so focused on Emma being okay that you I just assumed I was. Then I reacted by acting out.” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “Yeah. I noticed it when I was doing it. I tried not to,” 

“No,” Claire says, “I mean, I'm glad. Cause when Emma visited it made me realise... when my dorm mates met her and everything, that she might be super perceptive, but she's not as... she's not as good with actual people. That aren’t us. She’s the best with us, but other people…”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “it's why she's so good with kids. She don't know the rules of social interaction, and neither do the kids.” 

“I think I was jealous,” Claire says, “But then... things have always been _hard_ for Emma. Like school, you know? The classes but also the people. College. Like, I love college. I love learning and just... that's not Emma, which is cool. It doesn't matter. But this girl, the one who does psych and thinks she's some kind of expert, starts rattling all this stuff off about insecure attachments and how Emma's always going to be obsessive about routine and the right way of doing things and have difficult forming relationships with people and have a less successful life outcomes it was such _bullshit_ and I got so angry and then I was so so glad that you spent so much time building her up and just... yeah,” 

“So are you saying I messed you up or I didn't?” 

“I guess I'm saying you kinda did, but that I get it and I forgive you for it,” Claire says. 

“That's good,” Dean says, “I think,” 

“Point is,” Claire says, “I get that… that you and Dad, well, it’s complicated. People are complicated. Issues are complicated. It’s not about whether one person messed up or not, it’s also… who that hurt, why they did it, what was their _reasons_ for it.” 

“How much did you hear?” 

"A lot," Claire says, "didn't mean to listen, you know, but then I'd already heard some of it and then I had to know the rest. I turned the TV on when you started talking about wearing panties because, you know, TMI. Well, all of it was a pretty massive dose of TMI," 

"You mad at me?" 

"No," Claire says, "That’s what I’m trying to say, I guess, even if it’s not coming out right. I’m not a dumb kid. I _know_ that you and Dad aren’t some fairytale couple where you get everything right. I used to think you had this perfect, shiny relationship where you were happy all that time, then I spent a eight hour car journey thinking you were gonna tell me you were separating and I’m pretty I went through every single argument you’ve ever had on repeat. But, I mean… it’s okay that you screwed up too. Both of you. As long as you fix it. I know how seriously you take it, for someone who turns everything into some kind of a joke. I have faith in you,” 

“Thanks, Claire,” Dean says, throat tight, “You know I’m proud of you, right?” 

“Padre, no chick-flick moments,” 

“Frigging _joke_ ,” Dean says, shaking his head. 

“Don’t say it if you don’t want us to quote it,” Claire grins, tapping her fingers against the wheel and meeting his eyes in the front view mirror, “Did you fix it with Dad yet?” 

“Hell if I know,” Dean says, “As one of my resident emotional experts, _please_ tell what was up with him this morning,” 

“Duh,” Claire says, “Dad’s ready to move the hell on from the argument, and you’re still being a total grump. Then you undermined him challenging Emma, which pissed him off and he really _wanted_ things to be okay, so instead of bringing world war three to the breakfast table – again – he stalked off to shower. You were supposed to follow him, then stop killing his buzz and apologise for letting Emma off the hook. I’m guessing you didn’t,” 

“She was _stressed_ ,”

“And you’re a total pushover,” 

“Hey, watch it lady. I’m letting you drive my car, here,” Dean says. 

“Exactly,” Claire says, “After you specifically said _over my dead body_ and that’s, like, the maddest you’ve ever been at me. Ever.” 

“For that, you can give her a tune up and a decent clean when we get back,” Dean says, “See how you like some slave labour,” 

“You’re gonna let me at her innards?” Claire beams. 

“Well, you fixed the coffee machine,” Dean shrugs, “And you’ve been doing the maintenance on your own car. Reckon you can handle it,” 

“Awesome.” 

Damn, he misses having Claire around all the time. His life just feels fuller with her throwing sarcasm at him from the driver’s seat, like there’s all these empty spaces that she just fills up, only they’re spaces Dean can’t even point to when she’s not there. He doesn’t know whether they are, just that he misses her a lot.

*

"Question thirty one,” Claire announces, sat in the kitchen with her feet up on one of the chairs, sipping on a can of coke. Dean’s cooking, Cas is conspicuously absent (he answered Dean’s where-are-you-text with ‘will be home before dinner’, but Dean’s not got the energy to get irritated about it) and Emma is still at Jake’s folks’ place. Claire’s spent the last half an hour since Dean started cooking exploiting the internet’s vast swathes of relationship-wisdom, largely in the form of internet quizzes. Dean’s pretending to be mildly pissed about it, but Claire’s having a good time, and that’s what’s important here. 

"Frigging hell, Claire, how many questions are there here?" Dean asks, whacking the heat up on the hob. 

"What are we doing?" Cas asks, appearing trench coated and still cheerful looking (the Cas version of it, anyway, which means that he’s not actively scowling) in the kitchen. 

"Nine more," Claire says, "The _how happy is your relationship quiz_ ," Claire says brightly, "Question thirty one. How often do you have oral sex? Option one, more than four times a week," 

"Who the hell has time to have oral sex _four_ times a week?” 

"Us," Castiel says, "Before we had children," 

"Before we had jobs, maybe.” 

"There's an ‘oral sex? I think I remember what that is’ option, if that helps," 

"What's the one below more than four times a week," 

"Dean, be realistic here," Cas says, "Not that I understand how this reflects on the happiness of a relationship," 

"It's one of their better questions," Dean says. 

"I kind of get it," Claire says, "I mean, you don't suck someone's dick if you're pissed that they haven't done the laundry, do you?" 

"Wisdom and beauty, this one," Dean says. 

"Several times a month," Cas says, peering over Claire's shoulder. 

"Hey come on, we do better than that," 

"Once a week is a gross exaggeration, Dean," 

"There's gotta be an option between the two," 

"There isn't," Cas says, leaning over to press the button on Claire's phone. 'When was the last time your partner made a romantic gesture, such as breakfast in bed," Castiel reads, "I assume I'm answering as Dean ...More than a month ago," 

"Dude," 

"The next question is the reverse." 

"I took the garbage out last week," 

"I'm unsure if that's romantic," Cas says, "I suspect, two weeks,” Cas says, taking Claire’s phone out of her hands (which wins him an eye roll), before squinting at it. “That one’s easy. Yesterday…. Also, yesterday. Dean, when was the last time you were irritated at me?” 

“Oh, I’m irritated right now, sweetheart,” Dean says cheerfully, “But I’ll get over it,” 

“The only option is five minutes ago or earlier today,” 

“Cas, I don’t reckon it matters too much,” 

“I’ll put five minutes ago,” 

“This was kinda more fun before you crashed,” Claire says, sending a grin in Cas’ direction which negates the fact that she’s insulting him (Dean could use that power, really). Cas smiles and wanders to the kitchen counter, leaning against it. 

“Was it?” Dean asks, “Must have missed the fun part,” 

“Earlier today for me,” Cas says, then goes quiet, “Ah, the quiz says that we are ‘mostly happy’ but with a few unresolved issues,” 

“It took forty fucking questions to work that out?” 

“It also predicts we’ve been together for a long time. It’s linking me to ‘what is going to end your relationship’ quiz,” 

“It’s contempt,” Claire says, “It’s super bad. Although you also scored high for stonewalling and defensiveness.” 

“Yes, thank you Claire,” Cas says pointedly, “Food smells excellent,” 

“Where’ve you been, Cas?” Dean asks, trying his best to sound like the question is a matter of curiosity rather than irritation. He’s not properly pissed off, actually, because having a decent chunk of bonding time with Claire was awesome. He’s gotten the low down about all her favourite classes, the name of everyone who lives on her corridor, who’s sleeping with who, whether she’s still doing the long distance friendship thing with Krissy (she is and she maintains that they are still _just_ friends, which Dean never bought for a hot second), and how all her high school friends are doing. The time with Claire was awesome. He just feels like he’s got whiplash from Cas’ behaviour today. 

“Your brother’s,” 

“You were with Sam?” Dean asks, eyebrow’s shooting up his forehead, “And how did that go?” 

“I told him I resented him,” Cas says, “It was very cathartic,” 

“Holy shit, Cas,” Dean says, blinking at him. 

“He was very understanding,” Cas says, “We had a good talk.” 

“Well, Sam loves the talking it out crap,” Dean says, “But, _why_?”

“I thought it might help,” Cas says, “I am trying to fix things, Dean,” 

“I know,” Dean says, “I know that, I just… huh. You feel better?” 

“Yes,” 

“Alright then,” Dean says, shrugging and swallowing, “Awesome,” 

“I also ordered some glasses,” Cas says, “And I bought you a new shirt.” 

“Thanks,” Dean says and, god help him, but he’s still utterly confused. Not confused enough not to react when Cas sidles up to him and gives him that ‘I-want-a-hug’ look, though. He just turns the heat down and pulls him into one. 

“It’s to replace that one you’ve had since you were twenty four,” Cas says into his chest. 

“I like that shirt,” 

“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Claire pipes up, “I’m gonna go work on one of my assignments and watch Ball-buster Bosses,” 

“You know, Claire, I’m sure it will be easier to concentrate on your essay if you’re not watching television,” 

“You’re such a parent,” Claire says, pulling a pack of potato chips from one of the drawers and plucking her phone back out of Cas’ hands. 

“Hey, dinner’s in an hour. You better not ruin your appetite,” 

“Wow,” Claire says, stopping to give them both a condescending hair-rustle, “It’s like you’re ripping off a sitcom every time you speak. You could get bad script writers to pay to listen in to your conversations in exchange for a sense of validation.” 

“Hey, fuck you,” 

“Laters, Padre,” Claire says, swinging the doors shut on her way out. 

“Can I help with dinner?” Cas asks, after a few seconds of silence. There’s not a whole lot to be done, but he assigns Cas to cutting up veg for the salad so he feels vaguely useful. In the end, Dean finishes his job first and winds up watching Cas chop. The domesticity of it all is sinking under his skin again, till he’s back to overthinking whether Cas is still in this because he wants to be in this, or whether he’s just so used to being married to Dean that the alternative seems impossible. Cas loves him. Dean’s pretty sure that’s a lot more than habit. It’s more like fact. It’s wired into his DNA, at this point. 

“How come you feel better than yesterday and I feel six times worse?” Dean asks, watching as Cas cuts up peppers, “I mean, I get it. You got a lot off your chest, but then I was… Cas, come on, we didn’t exactly _deal_ with what I said. You’re vomiting rainbows and sunshine everywhere and talking to Sam and I’m digging it, really, but then we’re back at the beginning, where I feel like there’s this massive problem and you don’t.” 

“Tell me how you’re feeling,” 

“I just did,” 

“That was _what_ you have feelings about,” Cas says, still chopping his peppers, “What do you actual feel about those things?” 

“Like this aint a yoga retreat?” 

“Dean,” 

“Guilty, for one. Like, barely able to breathe guilty,” Dean says, “A vague sense of dread,” 

“Elaborate,” 

“Cause now I get what happened, it seems so inevitable and I feel like it’ll keep happening,” Dean says, “I already feel like you’re pushing me out again, Cas, and it’s been less than twenty four hours. I’ve been trying to get in your head all day and I just… I feel like I don’t _get_ you. I used to know all of this stuff instinctively. It used to be _instinctive_ to say nice crap to you, but I’ve been locking it up in my head. I’ve been thinking it. I swear to you, Cas, I think about how into you I am every other thought, but if that’s not been coming out of my mouth…”

“Dean,” Cas says, “I haven’t been saying those things either,” 

“But you have,” Dean says, mouth dry, “I know the guilt thing isn’t helpful. I’m trying not to indulge in it, you know? But it’s there,” 

“We’ve had bigger problems before, Dean,” Cas says, laying down the knife to turn to him and smile, “And now we know the problem, we know what we’re swinging at,” 

“Summarise it. This problem. Cause I don’t know that I _do_ know what the problem is, exactly. I’ve got a list of problems and they’re all interlinking and they’re pretty much all my fault and I don’t know how to even _start_ fixing it.” 

“Yesterday I felt like I was suffocating, Dean, and I felt _alone_ ,” Cas says, “Today I feel like you’re on my side,” 

“I am,” Dean says, “I am, Cas. Always.” 

“That’s why I’m happy. Yes, I’m _aware_ that we still have issues. I can work on letting you in, Dean, and I will. I… it’s instinctive to try and deal with things alone – ” 

“ – because I’m a fragile little princess who can’t handle your emotions?” 

“No,” Cas says, blinking at him, “Why would you think that?” 

“Because, Cas, it’s… damnit,” Dean says, “You’re the rock, here, I’m just flailing about with my crappy issues, depending on you.” 

“I absolutely depend on you, Dean,” 

“But you… I just, Cas. That’s the thing, you… you didn’t come to me with any of this stuff. I mean, I get the trying to protect Emma and Claire stuff, I do. But given the fuss you kick up when I deal with stuff on my own and, yeah, I know you’re not a fan of me keeping some of the therapy stuff to myself. I know you get _why_ , but you don’t like it. I would’ve… I should’ve known anyway, I know that, but I would’ve helped, Cas. I would’ve done whatever the hell you needed me to do, but you pushed me out instead.” 

“Dean, please believe me when I say I didn’t realise I was drowning until I was neck deep in water. I thought I was handling it,” 

“I know,” Dean says, “I’m not… not meaning to bitch you, because this isn’t your fault, I’m just… I can’t be dancing round the room when there’s still a lot of stuff I’m not happy with. Even if you thought you were handling it, why wouldn’t you _talk_ to me about it?” 

“I’m sorry,” 

“Me too, Cas, I’m really sorry,” Dean says, “And I wanna move forward, I really do. It’s just taking a little time to process,” 

“Okay,” Cas says, “I understand,” 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “And I will talk to you more,” 

“I’m interested in every single thought in your head, Cas. I’m gonna build your self-esteem back up and, next time, I’m gonna push and push till you talk. I swear to God, Cas, I will do better. I’m gonna make you so happy.” 

“You already do,” Cas says, stepping across the kitchen to tuck his hands in the familiar spot at Dean’s side, leaning forward to kiss him. It’s a good kiss. It’s the kind of kiss that settles a little of the tension in his shoulders and makes him feel like everything might just be okay after all. Dean winds up letting Cas back him up against the kitchen counter and cup his jaw with his right hand. 

“I fucking love you,” Dean breathes, eyes shut, his brain finally shutting up. 

“You’re lovely,” Cas says back, in that deep gravel. Dean leans forward to kiss him again and only stops when Emma gets back from her meeting the parents. 

They like her just fine, of course they do, because Emma is incredible. 

*

There’s this possibility that Cas might have been right to be heavily sarcastic about the amount of food Dean bought for Thanksgiving, because even with Sam, Robbie, Mary and Benny joining them, there’s no chance in hell they’re not going to be eating leftovers for the rest of the week (and probably freezing some too). He’s been locked in an intense battle with fitting all this crap in the oven, which he lost right about the time he rang Sam up and informed him that he’d just volunteered to roast some potatoes. Now, they’re at final cooking stages and Dean’s just beginning to relax. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“Hey,” Dean says, pausing to kiss his bad ass husband. He hasn’t really seen him all day. He got up early to cook and left Cas sleeping, then there were _guests_ arriving and Cas was still halfway through Claire’s fourteenth load of laundry, or something ridiculous. “Food’s a go in thirty minutes,” 

“It smells excellent,” 

“Best do,” Dean says, letting Cas pull him into a hug, “That’s hours of labour, right there. You managed not to kill Benny yet?” 

“Everyone’s watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” 

“Weird, but I’ll take it,” Dean says. 

“Claire is ‘educating’ Mary,” Cas says, “Can I do anything to help?” 

“Nah,” Dean says, scanning Cas’ features to try and work out what drove him into the kitchen. Generally, he avoids it during things like _Thanksgiving_ and _Christmas_ because Dean ranges from humming along to AC/DC (when things are going well) to snapping at anyone who gets in a ten meter radius of the oven (when it’s not going so well). Cas spent half of yesterday telling Sam he resents him, for fuck’s sake, and the vague enmity between Cas and Benny has always been present. It’s probably not a comfortable situation for Cas. “You hiding from the others?” 

“Perhaps I just missed you?” 

“Yeah right,” Dean grins, as Cas tries to chase down his lips, “Definitely missed this,” 

“You seem to be feeling more positive today,” Cas observes, as Dean hovers just out of kissing-distance, trying to get a proper read on the guy. “Good,” 

“Yeah, reckon I’m halfway there, emotionally,” Dean says, “Anyway, you know I love Thanksgiving. Kinda hard to be pissed about anything when I’ve got all my favourite people over for dinner. Turkey’s roasting. And we’re having pie. Pie, Cas, _pie_.”

“Hey chief,” Benny says, entering the kitchen with the kind of familiarity that probably pisses Cas off, but it’s inevitable given how long they’ve lived here. Anyway, Benny spent a lot of that time being their chief babysitter, so Cas probably can’t get too upset about it. 

“What’s up, Benny?” Dean asks, as Cas resolutely doesn’t let go of him. If anything, he tightens his grip on Dean’s arm and leans slightly closer. 

“Your nephew was talking ‘bout you being sick,” 

“Oh,” Dean says, stomach sinking, “Yeah,” 

“This conversation isn’t very thanksgiving-y,” Cas declares, still hanging onto his side. 

“Food smells good,” Sam says, entering the kitchen with a beer, then stopping short when he glances at Benny’s face. 

“Prostate cancer,” Dean says, “But it’ll be fine. Far as I can work out, the biggest thing about all this crap is that my swimmers are retiring. She kept rattling on about infertility till I was like, look lady, I’m married to _a dude_ , the not being able to make babies thing is old news. Oh, and if any of them told you we’re separating, that’s clearly bullshit. Frigging gossiping kids.” 

“Uh, okay,” Sam says, “Why - ?” 

“This conversation also isn’t very Thanksgiving-y,” Cas declares again, walking over to the fridge and presenting Dean with a beer. Benny still has his eyebrows raised but accepts this with a shrug, before settling at the kitchen table and asking them both how work’s going. Sam stays long enough to grab some soda for Mary and Robbie, but Cas stays long enough to give a few non-committal answers about his work and thoroughly stake his claim by invading Dean’s personal space. 

“I’ve said it before, brother,” Benny says, after Cas has disappeared and left them to it, leaving Dean feeling slightly uneasy about his current headspace. “Your boy’s about as warm as the arctic circle, and twice as biting.” 

“He’s nice to me,” Dean shrugs. 

“Guess so,” Benny says, eyes tracking Dean’s beer, “And he loves you something awful,” 

“That too,” Dean agrees, turning back to the oven to check on the potatoes he’s rewarming in the oven, “It’s mutual,” 

“Whole world knows that, chief,” Benny says. 

“How’s the divorce going?” 

“This aint my first rodeo,” Benny says, “Your Angel’s got a point though, Dean, this aint very thanksgiving-y,” 

“Copy that,” Dean says, “You wanna go tell his feathery ass that I’m serving food in ten? He can round up the troops.” 

*

“I dunno about you sadsacks,” Claire declares, “But I, personally, am thankful that turkey tastes good, that potatoes can be roasted and that my parents have done, like, all my laundry. I’m glad that we’re all having food together, that Emma has met a very nice guy whose parents like her, that Uncle Sam et al are close enough to come over for Thanksgiving and that my good ‘ol rents are stubborn enough to sort their crap out. Eventually,” 

“Well put, Claire Bear,” Dean grins. 

“I’m thankful that Claire’s enjoying college,” Emma says, “And that I have the facilities to do my _own_ laundry,” 

“It’s like _a dollar_ for every minute you put something in the dryer,” Claire says, “Anyway, they like to feel useful. Right, fathers?” 

“Oh yeah,” Dean says, “Spent the whole time you were at college waiting for you to get back so I could get coffee stains out of your t-shirts,” 

“ _One_ t-shirt. One.” 

“Padre,” Emma prompts, rolling her eyes, “What are you thankful for? And you can’t say pie,” 

“But I am thankful for pie,” Dean says, as Emma smiles at him. She’s the one that forced this tradition on them aged seven, when she watched a film and thought it was cute. Dean’s pretty sure before then Thanksgiving had been entirely about eating a crap load of food, but that’s a whatever. “Alright, well, I’m thankful that Cas is gonna quit his job,” 

“I didn’t say that,” Cas says, voice sharp, much sharper than Dean was expecting. It throws him off his train of thought completely, till he’s just _blinking_ at him like he’s grown an extra head. “ _You_ said that,” 

“Cas,” “Excuse me,” Cas says, then he’s _standing up_ and walking straight out of Thanksgiving dinner, like that’s an acceptable thing to do. It’s a mark of how long this argument crap has been stretching on for that his first reaction is _despair_ rather than anger. The fact that Dean’s spent hours cooking and is left, vaguely humiliated, with everyone staring at him is secondary. The desire to follow him and _yell_ arrives aa split second later, though. It’d be fine if it was just Claire and Emma, and even Sam and Benny, but having Mary and Robbie staring at him looking a little shocked is just too much. It’s just fucking _embarrassing_ and Dean is so, so, so damn tired of this crap. 

“Start eating,” Dean says, scraping back his chair, grimace fixed. 

“Dean,” 

“No, really Sam,” Dean says, “Eat. Be merry.” 

Cas is pacing in the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” He says the second Dean opens the door, which saves them both Dean snapping something he’d probably regret in thirty seconds time. “I didn’t intend to do that. Please don’t be mad at me, Dean,” 

“What the hell, man?” 

“I don’t…” Cas begins, then cuts himself off and frowns, “Help,” 

It’s at that point that Dean realises there’s no scope for Dean to be angry in this moment _at all_ because that’s always going to be subordinate to whatever Cas is currently feeling. You don’t walk out in the middle of Thanksgiving if you’re doing fine. Fuck the turkey and the potatoes and even the goddamn pie, because Cas is _struggling_ exactly like Dean knew he should have been yesterday. It didn’t make _sense_ , but now he’s having what looks a hell of a lot like another breakdown in their front room whilst Sam and Benny, both of whom Cas has an _actual problem with_ right now, awkwardly tuck into the veg next door. Again, Dean’s messing up, because he should have been paying more attention to Cas seeking him out this morning. He should’ve known, but after all these decades he is _still_ not a mind reader. 

He probably also should not have mentioned Cas’ job. 

“Woah there, Cas,” Dean says, crossing the room to rest his hands on his waist, “What’s up? I’m listening,” 

“You,” Cas says, “I don’t know. I started to feel suffocated again and you… it felt like _pressure_ and then all the people… and I just, I couldn’t. What’s _wrong_ with me?” 

“Cas, you concentrated like _a year’s_ worth of emotions into a thirty minute breakdown on Tuesday night. It was bad. I know you wanna believe that this is all fixed, but there’s still stuff we’re working on. You just freaked out cause I said something dumb. It’s okay.” 

“Last week you were talking about ‘time apart’, Dean,” Cas says, “You haven’t suggested anything like that since shortly after Bartholomew,” 

“Well, I’m an idiot. You’ve always known that,” Dean says, “I gotta say, shitty as it makes me, _this_ makes a hell of a lot more sense to me than yesterday. Just a pity Thanksgiving got in the way of our crap,” 

“I… cancer,” 

“I know, Cas,” Dean says, “I love you,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, voice a little less shaky, “You do.” 

“We got this,” 

“I need you,” 

“Right here, Cas,” Dean says, as Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and clings to him. He pulls him so close that Dean can feel his heart beating, and it’s racing in his chest like he sprinted out of the room. Damnit. Damn all of it. They need a holiday and a few consecutive weeks without something crappy happening, or something which involves lots of _people_ and _family_ sticking their noses in like they’re actually being helpful. Instead, they’ve got Gabriel visiting and frigging Christmas, then it’s the New Year and Emma’s been on about doing something for Dean’s birthday. Somehow they’ve got to fit in _cancer treatment_ and talking about whether Cas _is_ actually going to quit his job or not. Dean can’t even begin thinking about all the various consequences of all of it (like, Cas is the one with the A-grade medical insurance attached to his job, Dean’s is pretty decent, too, but… what if that changes their options), let alone weight it all up and make a decision. It’s all so complicated and difficult and _crappy_ and no wonder Cas is still not okay. 

“Thanksgiving,” 

“Yup,” Dean says, “The others are starting without us. You need some more time?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, looking like he’s genuinely surprised by the word coming out of his mouth. It figures. Taking some time out of frigging Thanksgiving to have an emotional overload is pretty much the exact opposite of what he’s been doing for however long. The timing isn’t ideal, but this is definitely a breakthrough. This is definitely _moving forward_.

“You want me here or you want me not here?” 

“Not, I think,” Cas says, leaning forward to kiss him, then frowning, “But not because I’m deliberately pushing you out,”

“It’s cool, Cas, you don’t need to explain.” 

“You’re wonderful,” 

“Damn straight I am,” Dean says, “Join us when you’re ready, okay? And text me if you need me.” 

“Dad okay?” Claire asks through a mouthful of potatoes, when Dean sits back down at the dinner table and gets himself another beer (Claire swiped his, looks like). For a second, Dean’s not really sure how to answer; there’s a lot of audience members and Cas clearly isn’t okay, or he’d at the dinner table right now. There’s a lot of factors to consider, like how Cas currently feels about Sam and Benny, and how Dean’s not really sure whether to blame it on himself, the cancer, or the relationship problems he’s pretty sure everyone around the table knows they’re having (even if he hadn’t said _as such_ to Benny). 

“He’s just taking a minute,” Dean says, leaning over the table to spear a forkful of turkey. He deliberately avoids eye contact with anyone until the conversation has moved on, by which point he’s chewing too much food to contribute. 

In the end, Cas takes more like ten minutes. He renters just as Dean’s debating how much to take for seconds, sits down and tangles his finger’s together with Dean’s on top of the table. He smiles at him then compliments the turkey and the potatoes. No one asks him about it and it doesn’t get bought up again. 

After dinner, when Emma brings up that Cas missed his turn, Cas declares that he is _also thankful for pie, because pie makes Dean happy_ and that probably shouldn’t constitute as romantic in Dean’s book, but it pretty much nails it. It has Claire pretending to throw up for Mary’s entertainment and Sam shaking his lead looking a little bemused, but Dean’s pretty sure it’s mostly a mark of Cas being too emotionally flayed to come up with anything else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was definitely supposed to be up quicker... but then holiday planning happened and now holiday is happening, but lots of travel time so hopefully the next chapter will be up soon :)


	8. Chapter 8

Cas wakes him up by poking him in the ribs in a movement that was probably supposed be gentle, but instead has Dean grunting awake and blithely reaching for his phone to check the time and calculate how many more minutes he can tell Cas to give him before he does the consciousness thing. 

His phone screen blare out ’04:32’ and for a few sluggish seconds Dean considers chucking the damn thing at Cas for waking him up, but then he registers the ‘4th January’ and has an _oh_ moment which pretty much translates to forgiveness. Cas has been a bit of an emotional wreck since frigging Thanksgiving and the past week he’s been having difficulty sleeping, which he hasn’t for an age. Cas is stressed and worried and a bit of a mess. So maybe Dean would rather not be woken up in the literal middle of the night, but whatever. He can fucking deal with it. 

“What?” Dean exhales, dropping his phone back onto the bedside table and turning to face him. 

“I’ve been thinking about which of your freckles are my favourite,” Cas says, voice rough with sleep but way more alert than anyone should be at half four in the morning. 

“Yay,” Dean comments, rolling over onto his back and blinking at the ceiling. 

“Can I tell you about it?” 

“Why the hell not,” Dean says, swallowing, “Shoot.” 

Cas sits up and makes a movement as though his headed for the light which is _so_ not okay. Dean grabs his bicep to stop him. 

“Dude,” Dean says, “It’s the middle of the damn night. You wanna talk at me, that’s cool, but you’re not gonna get a whole lot of audience participation here, and you’re not messing with my melatonin levels.” 

“Okay, Dean,” 

“Tell me about the freckles,” Dean says, closing his eyes. 

“Why are you wearing a shirt?” 

“What?” 

“You don’t normally wear a shirt at night,” 

“This conversation is giving me whiplash, I swear.” 

“I wondered whether it was because you didn’t want to be close to me tonight,” 

“I was cold, Cas,” Dean says, eyes still shut, as Cas’ fingertips trace over the soft flesh of his stomach that Dean doesn’t really like, but Cas seems to. “I can hear you overthinking. Quit it,” 

“I would prefer it if you didn’t. It makes me think things.” 

“Cool,” Dean says, dragging himself up to shed himself of his shirt, then chucking it to the other corner of the room. “Happy?” 

“Am I acting slightly crazed?” 

“Hundred percent,” Dean exhales, “Total whack job. You need to sleep, man.” 

“I apologise,” Cas says, “Sleeping is…”

“Difficult,” Dean supplies, “Yeah, I get it. I’m finding it hard right this second, too.” 

“Dean,” 

“I’m kidding,” Dean says, forcing his eyes open to smile at him, “Mostly. You said it helped the other day when you monologued at me?” 

“It did,” 

“So tell me about the freckles,” Dean says, folding an arm under his head and letting his eyes drift shut again. 

“There’s one on your hip,” Cas says, “Here,” Cas continues, his fingers skating over flesh and settling over Dean’s left hip. Dean grunts a noise to signify that he’s still awake, even though it’s just barely. “I like it because there’s no justifiable reason why it should exist. It is just there.” 

“Uhuh,” 

“Then there’s this one,” Cas says, fingers tracing upwards to his shoulder blade. Then the guy leans forward to press his lips against the skin. “It marks the beginning of your arms and it’s exceedingly cute.” 

“And number three?” 

“I haven’t decided that one yet,” Cas says. 

“So you woke me up to tell me about your two favourite freckles?” 

“I was aiming for five,” Cas says, and Dean can hear the frown in his voice, “But it’s winter and they’re all largely indiscernible from each other.” 

“That’s case they’re freckles, darling,” Dean says, “Cas, you’re never gone sleep if you spend the whole night sitting up. Get over here,” 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” 

“Well, you screwed that when you prodded me in the side,” Dean says, adjusting to provide some space for Cas under his arm, “What else you been thinking about?” Cas shifts forward and curls against his side in that familiar way. 

“My five favourite times that you’ve told me you love me,” 

“God, you’re a sentimental sap when you’re insomnia’s screwing with you,” Dean says, losing half of the last word to a yawn, as Dean reaches up to run his fingers through Cas’ hair, across his forehead. Dean’s pretty damn relaxed, all things considered. “You doing okay?” 

“I’m trying to think of good things,” 

“Like freckles,” Dean says, “You sure you’re not torturing yourself?” 

“Yes,” 

“All right,” Dean says, “Tell me the top five.” 

“Dean, you dislike things that are that grossly sentimental,” “Don’t tell Sam and we’re golden,” Dean says, rolling back onto his side in the direction of Cas. “No promises I’m gonna stay awake, though.” 

“You’re a very good husband, Dean,” 

“Say it again when I’m bitching at you about hanging up your coat,” Dean mutters into the back of Cas’ neck, eyes shut. He hasn’t really woken up, which is probably a good thing. He’ll only be irritable if Cas waking up means that he’s awake the rest of the night. 

“I’ll try and remember,” 

“I’ll remind you,” Dean says, “Go for it, buddy. Top five.” 

He falls asleep somewhere in between number three and number four, with Cas’s deep voice still rumbling out lovely, sentimental things that Dean’s too sleepy to object to. 

*

It would be easier not to think about it, if everyone wasn’t trying so damn hard not to talk about it (with good intentions, Dean’s sure, but it’s still a pain in the ass). Claire’s been texting him about Cas’ almost entirely theoretical job hunt and about a one of her college classes, but it’s a poor cover. Next, Emma text him asking him to pass on a message to Cas about church, like she’s ever tried to talk to Dean about church before in her life. Sam sent him an enigmatic _how are you?_ like they regular send messages like that, whilst Benny opted for sending him a straight up ‘good luck, chief’ text. He even got a message from Bobby, who said he’d retired from sending messages on ‘small as balls keypads’ round about the time he was wheelchair bound, settling instead on _phone calls_. That was probably the best message to receive, both because it meant a lot that he’d have battled with his shitty arthritis to send it and because he stuck to the pre-agreed arrangement of not mentioning it with much more intention than the others. Instead, Bobby sent him a biting remark about enjoying date night and making sure he fixed his marriage before he visited next, because he was too damn old to be dealing with domestics in his kitchen. It was refreshingly _about_ something and full of Bobby’s wonderful ornery-ness that’s been a corner stone for most of his life. 

In fact, the only damn person who’d actually stuck to his ‘let’s not talk about it’ rule, was Cas and Dean’s pretty sure Cas was the person he wanted to actually be answering his damn phone. Still, he gets that familiar rush of _relief_ and _affection_ and _actually being home_ when he walks in to find Cas mid-way through making them both coffee. The impala isn’t exactly a subtle vehicle, so it’s not surprising that Cas picked up on the cue… but, still, it smacks of the awesome kind of domesticity that Dean always pretended he didn’t want. 

"Dude, you are so damn cute and nerdy with the glasses," Dean grins, shedding his jacket and stepping into the kitchen. 

"I've had them for a month, Dean," 

"Yeah yeah, but I keep forgetting. You're like a trench coated librarian with sex hair and that fucking wonderful frowny face," 

“I don't have a frowny face,” Cas frowns. 

“Cas, take this from the person who's woken up next to you for the past thirty five years. You have a frowny face. It's cute, though,” 

“I'm unsure 'frowny face' and 'nerdy' really count as compliments, but hello Dean, how was your day?” Cas says, stepping forward to press the coffee cup into his hands and hovering in his personal space. Dean’s still not used to the way that Cas’ existence tugs at something deep within his gut, this dull ache that makes him feel slightly sick with longing (even though Cas is _right there_ ), because he’s still not over how fucking ace Cas is, which is astounding. 

“It's getting better,” Dean grins, “Wanna make out? 

“You are insane,” Cas blinks, as Dean puts his coffee on the counter and goes for his waist. 

“Well?” 

“Absolutely,” Cas says, leaning forward to kiss him, briefly. “But shouldn't we save something for our date?” 

“Good thing about our marathon marriage. We've pretty much done everything there is to do. Not sure there's much saving for our date we could do.” 

“Nevertheless, I think…”

“Enough with your dates are all foreplay theory, man,” Dean says, picking up his coffee again and taking a sip. “It’s not how it works,” 

“In the context of marriage,” 

“Nope,” 

“Are you, or are you not, expecting to ‘get lucky’ tonight, Dean?” 

“Sweetheart, aint nothing lucky about it. You’re a safe bet,” Dean grins, taking another sip of coffee. 

“As much as you like to maintain otherwise, we do not actually have sex every night,” Cas says, “Therefore your belief is based on _something_ about today, which is the fact that it’s date night,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “But that’s not what _date night_ is about. If we _don’t_ have sex later, that doesn’t mean it was a shitty date. It’s about a helluva lot more than that,” Dean says, then his gaze falls to the kitchen table, overladen with Cas’ laptop and the thirty five page report about some crap that Dean's astounded Cas managed to stay awake to read, "I guess this explains why you haven't been answering your phone," Dean says, "Cause you've been too busy doing overtime at the job you're supposed to be quitting," 

"It's not overtime, Dean, it's working at home," 

"It's overtime when it's past six, buddy. And people don't work when they work at home," 

"Yes they do, Dean," 

"You haven’t answered my messages. Or our kids, seems like, given I’ve had messages from Emma about church and Claire hounding me about whether you looked over the job profile she sent you –”

"I was _intending to_ after - "

"And I checked it out, too, and she's right. Sounds like an awesome job, much better than the last three you tossed out," 

"Dean," 

"I'm just saying, man, for a guy who has four draft resignation emails saved in his outbox, you don't seem to be doing a good job at quitting and moving on," 

"I don't want to argue about this," 

"It's not an argument," Dean says, a headache threatening behind his left eye. It’s been a pretty shitty day, frankly, and he’s betting tomorrow is going to be worse. He doesn’t want an argument, either, but he’s through with putting off talking about stuff for the sake of having an easier life. He’s just done with it. "What's the deal? It's the fourth of January, you said you'd decided that you were gonna quit in the first week of December, and you've applied for exactly zero jobs since then. If you've changed your mind -" 

"I haven't," Cas says, expression tense, "I want your treatment -”

"Cas, we can't put our whole lives on hold for that. We're taking a risk with the shiny new experimental radiation crap, that's six weeks, then another _month_ to see if it's worked, then if not it's surgery, then there's waiting for that to be scheduled, then recovery. It could be the summer till I'm square again. It's not like it's effecting my _life_ Cas. I don't feel sick.” 

“I know,” Cas frowns, “It's too much all at once,” 

“Okay,” Dean swallows, “If that's how you feel, then that's fine,” 

“I need to be _in control_ of something, Dean,” Cas says. “If I'm waiting to hear back from jobs and to hear about your treatment then it's ... I can't _do_ anything.” 

“Okay,” 

“Really?” 

“Dude, I'm not a dictator,” 

“But you're displeased,” Cas says, frowning him, which means Dean’s probably being a dick again. Dean closes his eyes for a second and tries to reign it in because… he needs tonight to be good.

“I mean, yeah, if it were me I'd have handed in my notice the day I decided to quit. But you ain't me, and if this is the best _for you_ then it's best for you, and even if it _ain't_ and you just think it is, it's still your call. I just wanted to know where you're at cause you say one thing and then you do another and I’m just… lost.” 

“I am processing everything,” 

“Process away then,” Dean says, “Ah, we better head soon. Just gonna go change out of my work stuff. You good to go?” 

“I just need to...” Cas begins, glancing back to his laptop. 

“Fine,” 

“Dean,” 

“As long as you’re ready to go in ten minutes, dude, it’s fine by me,” Dean says, which apparently isn’t as convincing as it could be, because Cas grabs hold of his shirt to pull him into another kiss. “I mean it, Cas, I’m not trying to put pressure on you to do shit, just… making my opinions about it known.” 

“You’re a good husband, Dean,” 

“Save it for date night, Hotstuff.” 

*

“So, your father took you to these types of... events,” Cas says, glancing around the room of the pre-match meet and great that they paid an extra five dollars to go to (absolutely Dean’s idea) looking a little uncomfortable. It’s not exactly Castiel’s scene and the guy had even tried to talk him into taking Sam instead, but Dean pretty much insisted; Cas said he could do whatever the hell he wanted tonight and this is what Dean wanted to do. 

Anyway, they’re still doing structural relationship work here. They haven’t really had the chance between _Christmas_ and _New Year_ , with Claire being home for the holidays then driving back to Denver, the suffocating life decisions and the few awkward dinners they’ve had with Emma and Jake. They need some actual time together, outside of the regular humdrum of their day to day. He’s known that for a while and they’ve been saying they’re “Yeah,” Dean grins, “One of the best things Dad ever did for us. Sometimes I reckon he picked towns to pitch up to based on the wresting. Dude, check it out. It’s ‘The Scream’ Casey Lyons,” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cas says, turning to follow his gaze. His voice is soft and a little affectionate too, though, so Dean kinda gets that Cas isn’t _mocking _him, per say, he just… he doesn’t have an idea what Dean’s talking about.__

 _ _“Wrecking Ball Calhoon. Damn they’re all... old. Kinda broken,”__

 _ _

“Time gets the best of us all, Dean,” Cas says sagely. 

“Dude, _dude_ Gunner freakin’ Lawless,” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “I see,” 

“Shut up. Should I go say hi? I should go say hi. I’m gonna go say hi.” 

“Dean,” Cas calls to his back, his voice laced with something that sounds a lot like affection, but Dean’s already giving him the _five minute_ symbol that he’s absolutely sure all married people must have. Cas just exhales and stays vaguely close behind him, till Dean’s making a complete fool of himself _babbling_ at the guy. 

*

“What's got you looking so smug?” Dean asks, after the meet and greets given way to being ushered into another room, and he’s relocated Cas after disappearing to the bathroom. Cas is pocketing his phone with the sort of smile on his face that Dean usually places with illicit text messages (from Dean, generally), but given what happened _last time_ with Meg, he’s pretty sure Cas knows better. Especially on date night. Especially given _tomorrow_.

“I've been researching Gunner Lawless,” Cas says, “Was he a regular at the matches your father took you to?” 

“I guess,” Dean says, eyes narrowing. 

“Were you... a fan?” 

“Shut up,” Dean says, breaking eye contact. 

“I did wonder for a moment whether you hesitated on the word 'husband' because you were concerned a hyper masculine environment like this might be a breeding ground for homophobia or whether you didn't want to admit to being taken." 

"You're an asshole," 

"I enjoy seeing you flustered,” Cas says through that smug expression, voice tilted with amusement. 

"I made an ass of myself, didn't I?" 

"You were adorable," 

"Damnit," Dean says, something a little like humiliation sticking at the back of his throat. Cas' expression softens and he settles a hand on Dean's back. It hasn’t been aching much for the past few weeks, even though Dean’s been thinking about pretty much nothing but _cancer, cancer, cancer_ on repeat ever since Christmas. "He didn't... notice?" 

"No," Cas reassures him, "I just happen to know you very well." 

"Urgh," Dean says, running a hand over his face, "Cas," 

"Dean," Cas counters, "You don't have to be ashamed," 

"The guy’s… he, Cas. He... I just... Damnit," 

"Let's get our seats," Cas says, hands still on his back as he guides him towards the door. They stop to get beer in plastic cups on the way in, Cas ordering whilst Dean skulks behind, shame burning in his gut. This was supposed to be fun, damnit. A fun date. 

"I think I'd like to know more about this crush," Cas says, after they've sat down. He’s got the kind of expression on that Dean figures there’s no way Dean’s going to get out of this conversation. 

"Really?" Dean exhales, "It was, uh, went to this fight in Indiana. You gotta remember, these were some of the best memories we had. I know it seems kinda dumb to you – ” 

“ – not at all, Dean,” Cas says, “I very rarely find things important to you dumb,” 

As much as they’ve spent the past month and a bit working at their marriage and working at it _a lot_ , it still sparks this half toxic mixture of guilt and unworthiness that Cas is so damn _nice_ to him, when Dean has a track record of being a bit of an asshole. Dean would kind of like to squash it down, but instead opts for acknowledging that those feelings exists and they’re probably going to hang around for a while, that Cas both loves him and knows that Dean loves him, and that they’ve both made plenty of mistakes. The main thing is that they’re fixing it. One kinda dumb date at time. 

Even if they still disagree about almost everything to do with Cas’ job, even if Dean’s pretty sure that Cas’ first choice of cancer-treatment would have been the surgery (not that he wasn’t _happy_ with the decision, because something like that is too damn big for Dean to do something Cas wasn’t happy with) and even if they still wind up butting heads about something or other every damn day. 

“So, I'm thirteen, Sam's nine. We've just got to town and Sammy's pitching a fit cause he doesn't wanna start at his new school the next day. They've been arguing for hours. I mean, hours. Didn't know nine year olds could frigging kick up that much of a fuss, but he did. It was supposed to be a treat, make everything better. So, Dad sets me and Sam up with the popcorn, gets himself a beer. We'd seen a lot of fights but... Gunner, he was _fearless_. He was just starting out. Early twenties, I'm guessing. The fight was awesome. Sammy and Dad started at it again half an hour after we got back to the motel, but I barely noticed. Just couldn't get him out of my head. Eventually they both noticed I'm not engaging and the whole argument fizzled out, round two AM. Was a bitch to get Sam up for school the next day. Saw him fight again a couple of times. Dad knew he was my favourite, so. Yeah. Sam got a poster of Rio for over his bed, I got Gunner Lawless. If he'd _known_... well. Doubt he'd have bought me the poster.” 

"Thirteen," Cas says, "this would have been your first crush on a man - correct?" 

"Yeah," Dean says through a clenched jaw. 

"Did you know it was a crush?" 

"Worked it out pretty fast after I had a pretty graphic dream about him fucking me in the public bathroom of a seedy bar," 

"You told me you first realised you were bisexual whilst you were at Sonny's," Cas says, eyes narrowed slightly. 

"Yeah, well, that was the nicer version of the story. Don't look at me like that, Cas, I told you that when I was nineteen." 

"Hmm," Cas says, "So, in this bar fantasy -”

"It aint a fantasy," Dean says, “And we are so not doing this here,” 

"Of course," Cas says, "It looks the fight is going to start, anyway,” Cas says, knee touching Dean's, “Perhaps later,” 

“Later,” Dean says, “You really want to talk about this, huh?” 

“Absolutely,” Cas says, breath hot on his ear, body unnecessarily close. Dean shifts slightly on his seat, swallows, and tries to concentrate on the fight they paid decent money to see. 

*

“So, you’re sitting in a bar,” Cas begins, when they’re halfway home. The fight was good and the food was okay and hanging out with Cas was _aces_ , but he’s kind of glad that they’re headed back. It’s been a long day. It’s been a long few months. He kind of wants to go to bed. 

“Castiel,” Dean says, voice tight in his throat. “Later. I’m trying to drive.” Cas frowns at him from the passenger seat for a few seconds, which is about when Dean realises that he’s probably freaking about tomorrow and probably acting like kind of an asshole. “Did you, uh, enjoy the fight?” 

“Surprisingly, yes,” Cas says, “Mostly, because you enjoyed it. I enjoy watching you enjoy things,” 

“Oh yeah, that’s a hoot,” Dean swallows, “Look, Cas –”

“ – I think I understand what you were saying earlier,” Cas interjects, “About dates,” 

“Really,” 

“That they have worth in and of themselves and that reducing them to just foreplay undermines their importance,” 

“You mean ‘I like spending time with you’, right?” 

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “I do mean that,” 

“Awesome,” Dean exhales, frowning out the front windscreen, “Although I’m pretty sure you’re using that as a get out clause. Cause now you’re thinking you were over confident earlier, ‘bout getting laid,” 

“Dean,” 

“Because I’m still game,” Dean says, hands gripped on his steering wheel, “Just… lots of stuff going on in my head. Like, a lot of stuff. And I know you have too, Cas. Last few months have been complicated… but, I had a good time tonight.” 

“Me too, Dean,” Cas says, shifting a little closer to rest a hand on his knee, “I love you very much, Dean,” 

“You too, Cas,” Dean says, “You too,” 

“I’m glad we’ve mostly repaired our marriage,” Cas says, which is a little too honest and a little too much to shove into this evening, when they’ve already got buckets loads of crap to be dealing with. It’s not that Dean isn’t glad too, because he is. There in a much better place. They’re actually communicating. He gets that Cas is struggling with a whole load of bullshit and Cas gets that Dean is struggling, too. They still miss Claire and Emma something stupid, but they’re working on a new balancing act. Dean’s pretty sure that neither of them are exactly _happy_ at the moment, but he’s also pretty sure that that isn’t _because_ of their marriage. 

Dean clears his throat. 

“So I’m in this bar, right,” Dean begins, half just to change the damn subject. 

*

In a credit to Cas’ self-control, he at least waits until Dean’s shifted over onto his side to face him, when they’ve both just about got their breath back, before he fixes him with that _look_ which Dean knows full well means that he hasn’t got away with it. Cas has honed in on an issue and he’s defiant and thorough enough that that issue is going to frigging well be explored, whether Dean wants to talk about it or not. 

Still, it was damn good sex, and it was a good date, and Dean can think of _worse_ things than propping himself up on his side so they can talk. He knew it would happen. He actually wants it to happen. 

“Give me another minute,” Dean says, “I aint done with the satisfied afterglow thing, yet.” 

“I should think not,” Cas returns, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder blade, “I put a great deal of work into getting you there,” Dean snorts. “I’m just curious,” 

“Curiosity killed the Cas,” 

“That’s not how the phrase goes, Dean,” 

“You’re killing my buzz with your wisecracks,” 

“A tragedy, I’m sure,” 

“Cas,” 

“I’ll let you have your minute,” Cas says, “My bad, as you say,” 

“I don’t,” Dean says, frowning as Cas moves, sits up, “Who said you could leave this bedroom?” 

“I want a drink,” 

“Cas, you’re a vital part of afterglow enjoyment. Set your ass back down,” 

“You are ridiculous,” Cas smiles, “This was a very enjoyable evening,” 

“Mhm,” Dean agrees, “Fucking awesome evening with awesome fucking. Damn, I’m exhausted.” 

“I could get you coffee,” 

“You’re just looking for an excuse to get a drink,” Dean says, “But, whatever. Go do. No for the coffee, though. It’s late and sleeping tonight is gonna be a pain as it is. Don’t pout at me, Cas, I know you wanna talk. We’ll talk.” 

Dean takes the few minutes to check his phone. Nothing. Looks like everyone got their piece in earlier. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“Mmm, hey,” Dean says, as Cas sets down two glasses of water, crawls back into bed and throws the covers over their naked asses. 

“Why does it bother you?” Cas asks, “I don’t see there’s anything particularly troubling about you having had a teenage crush on a participant in a sport you enjoyed watching with your family. In fact, it’s incredible normal. It’s equally incredibly normal to act like a bit of an idiot in front of said teenager crush,” 

“Yeah, I know,” 

“But you’re… perturbed. I don’t understand.” 

“Think I’d blocked the whole thing out,” Dean exhales, “I know it’s _normal_ it just... doesn’t make me feel great.” 

“Why?” 

"Cause it fucked things up," Dean says, taking a deep breath as Cas just tilts his head slightly "Dad took me to one of his fights after he picked me up from Sonny's. Guess he was trying to build bridges. Except then I'd acknowledged it in my head, you know? If felt okay to be into dudes when I was at Sonny's. I was thinking maybe I'd tell Sam as soon as we got back. Maybe Bobby. Hell, Sonny was an ex-con. Bit of a hippy maybe, but he pretty much fit my inner concept of _manly father figure_ if he could be okay with it... Maybe Dad would be too. So we're driving back down state and Dad stops in this ragtag town and he says it's a surprise, then we get there and we see the posters and I suddenly feel sick. I figured that if I'd acknowledged it it'd suddenly be obvious. I felt like it was written all of my face. I'm there, squirming in my seat, antsy and anxious, then the fights starting. And I just... I was gonna say it. I don't even know why, I just. I got as far 'Dad' before he cut me off. 

“Then he's giving me this pep talk. Said he'd been in contact with Sonny and he knew I was pissed about leaving cause I missed going to the school dance with Robin and I was pissed. I was _pissed_ cause I liked her. I liked her a lot. But it felt like someone had chucked a bucket of water over my head, cause I thought he must know, cause otherwise he wouldn't have started talking about _girls_. Dad wasn't the apologising type. Didn't even know how much Sonny had told him, or why he'd suddenly come and picked me up, but suddenly I'm convinced that he knew and I'm even more certain that if I say it out loud he’ll drop me back off at Sonny's again and leave me to rot. I tune back in just as Dad's telling me that he figures I'm not the long term relationship type, like any frigging fourteen year old is. Didn't talk for the rest of the fight. Don't remember any of it, either. It's just this white out. Reckon Dad thought I was punishing him for him leaving me at Sonny's, but it wasn't that. Still, dunno if our relationship ever recovered after that. It was the Sonny thing, yeah, but then I'm sat there thinking he's gonna reject me for a fundamental part of who I am. That felt worse than getting punished for getting caught stealing. So... I deleted Robin's number from my phone. Didn't even text her saying what happened. Just deleted all her messages till she stopped sending them. Dunno why. Figured it was just cause I'm an asshole.” 

“Dean,” 

“That's not it,” Dean says, because if they’ve started then they’re sure as hell gonna finish, “They came to town after we settled in Texas. Dad had taken off and I was mad. I was, uh, sixteen, maybe seventeen? Was about the time I had a thing for Aaron Bass, except he was ... _accessible_ and that was terrifying. I took Sammy to the fight. Then afterwards I dropped him off home then headed to this sleazy bar I figured they'd wind up in after they finished the clean-up.” 

“And did they?” 

“Yeah. I had fake ID by that point. It was pretty crappy, but the bartender wasn't the type to give a shit. Set myself up with a whisky. Figured... I dunno. Was kind of a pretty teenager. Knew from hanging out in shitty biker joints that dudes went for that.” 

“What happened?” Cas asks, eyes serious, line of his mouth not giving away anything. Cas is the expert at neutral listening. 

“Nothing,” Dean says, “You know what I was like, Cas. Couldn't even hit on _you_ when I was a kid, and you were out and my age and, no offence darling, but you weren't a two hundred pound wrestler. I sat there for an hour and a half and didn't talk to anyone. Just drank a lot and beat myself up about it. Threw up. Not even from the drinking, just cause I was so frigging anxious. Walked home after that. Felt like the biggest fucking idiot. In retrospect, I'm pretty damn glad I didn't have the balls. Still.” 

“None of that is anything to be ashamed about,” 

“I was... dumb,” Dean says, balling his hands up into fists. 

“You were a teenager,” 

“It wasn't just that he was a dude,” Dean says, “Yeah, that kinda freaked me out. It was... he wasn’t a nice guy, Cas. It wasn’t like with Aaron. It was wanting a guy who beats people up for a living to fuck me. It was messed up.” 

“Why haven't you told me about this before?” 

“Didn't not tell you on purpose,” Dean says, “This was a long time ago. Don't know I really remembered all of this crap until I made a fool of myself in front of the guy. The memory lane detour ain’t exactly my idea of a good time,” 

“I think we should press this issue a little further,” 

“Why?” Dean asks. 

“Because, Dean, you've been ashamed of having a crush on someone for forty years and you shouldn't be. Do you and have you sometimes been attracted to things that are bad for you? Yes. I don't think that should translate to embarrassment.” 

“Alistair,” Dean says, staring at the ceiling, “Same thing.” 

“No,” 

“Cas,” Dean says, “If I'd actually managed to pick up a guy at that bar, you think that'd have turned out any different? I thought I... I wanted it,” 

“No one had ever told you what a healthy sexual relationship looked like, Dean, especially between two men. You had low self-esteem and no reference of functioning relationships. I am _exceedingly_ glad that you didn't go through with it –”

“- me too, buddy,” Dean interjects. 

“ - but it doesn't mean you're in any way broken,” 

“I know. I know that.” 

“Then why is this bothering you?” 

“Guess it just threw me back there for a minute. I felt like that kid in the bar again. I just... the thought of who I'd be if I hadn't met you terrifies me, Cas. You taught me self-respect. Dunno if I'd have ever come out to anyone but Sam. I'd have let myself get fucked by some shitty guy and figured that meant I was dirt. That whole side of _me_ would be so fucking tainted with shame and, just, worthlessness. There'd be a dozen more Alistairs. I'd blame myself. I'd act like a dick rather than acknowledging it. No one else could have got me to therapy, you know? I'd be drinking and drinking. I'd be so obsessed with making sure Sam's okay to prove my self-worth that I'd have driven him away. Could never have had a family. I'd be awful without you. You've made my life so good, Cas. You're everything. You indulge my crappy date choices and you tease me for still having a dumb crush on a fighter whose probably got grandkids he doesn't even know about somewhere, then spend an hour acting like my therapist cause it brings some stuff up. You're amazing. You're so good. I dunno why I haven't been telling you that every day.” 

“I wouldn't have teased you if I'd known, Dean,” 

“I know,” Dean says, “I know, Cas. But it is pretty funny. If you take out the painful stuff.” 

“I like learning new things about you,” 

“Always another deeply imbedded issue to talk about,” Dean quips "Does it... I mean don't get me wrong here, Cas, that was awesome. That was fucking amazing sex. Just, does it bother you that some of that…control stuff comes from messy shit like that? Not saying it should, I just..." 

“What do you mean?” 

“Does thirteen year old me having some pretty messed up wet dreams about rough guys doesn't make you feel skeevy bout me liking it rough sometimes? If _that_ came from low self-worth and a bunch of other issues, then doesn't it kinda come from the same ugly place? Don't get me wrong, Cas, I know we're not exactly talking wild stuff here. I just...” 

“Your unwavering loyalty comes from your father focusing on your role in looking after Sam rather than you as a person. That does not mean it isn't both remarkable and beautiful, even more so now that it doesn't cause you harm. Yes, I see dark things that have impacted you and formulated parts of you, but they're wonderful. You are wonderful.” 

“Okay,” Dean exhales, “Awesome. That was a good date.” 

“It was,” Cas agrees, curling a little closer. “Thank you for taking me.” 

“Likewise, buddy,” Cas laughs. “You feel better than you did last night?” 

“Infinitely,” Cas says, “I’m sorry I woke you,” 

“Nah,” Dean says, “Rather you wake me up and bug me than get yourself overthinking and stressed out. I know I’m not exactly much help, but…”

“You were exceedingly helpful, Dean,” Cas says, “I’m still amazed by how eternally you always have my best interests at heart, even if I don’t necessarily agree with your conception of them.” 

“Reckon that’s supposed to be a compliment,” Dean grins, as Cas runs a finger over his spine, still curled in close. “With your job… Cas, you need more time then I get that. There’s a lot of change going on,” 

“I think it’s time to sleep, Dean,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, pulling Cas a little closer. “Yeah. Night, Cas.” 

*

"Are you sure I can't stay in the hospital?" 

"Yup," Dean says, "Dude, you'll just be sat around waiting. I'll let you know as soon as I'm out. Go do your errands." 

“I just...” Cas begins, shoulders bunched up in the passenger seat. He looks about as miserable as Dean’s ever seen him, bar funerals and the cheating incident. He’s back to freaking out again, which is fine, because now it’s actually the 5th January Dean’s feeling more or less okay. Yeah, he’s gotta come back here most days a week until half way through February, but he’ll deal with it. At least it means they’re doing something, rather than sitting on their asses thinking about it. 

“Unless you can talk the doc into letting you stay and watch ‘em shoving radioactive spiders up my ass,” 

“I'm entirely sure that isn't how it works,” 

“Cas, it'll be fine. I'll call you and you can come pick me up,” Dean says, “It’s a couple of hours.” 

“I should be telling you this,” Cas says, “You shouldn’t be telling me you’ll be fine.” 

“Well, I am,” Dean says, taking a hand off the steering wheel to seek out Cas’ and give it a squeeze. “Don’t worry about me, man, I’m feeling good. Bring it on.” 

“You are a very remarkable man,” 

“That’s me, babe,” 

“I’m not your car,” 

“Yeah, that’d be illegal,” Dean says, “If the kids call, tell them I’ll text them when I’m out, yeah? And that I’m fine.” 

“Of course, Dean,” Cas says, staring morosely out the window, “I’m sorry I’m…”

“Cas, don’t apologise to me for a damn thing, yeah? You’ve got absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” 

“Even if I didn’t hang my coat up before we left?” 

“Dude, you didn’t bring your coat? It’s frigging January, you dumbass,” 

“I was distracted,” 

“You’re gonna freeze. Take my jacket.” 

“Dean,” 

“This ain’t a negotiation, darling, you’re taking my jacket. And buy yourself a scarf or something. Last thing we need is you getting sick, too.” 

“Dean,” 

“We could drive back and pick it up, but I dunno if we’ve got the time before my appointment,” 

“Dean, we’re pulling into the carpark. If I get cold I can drive back myself,” 

“Yeah, guess you can,” Dean says, shrugging off his jacket and passing it over to him, “Here. Wait, my cells’ in the pocket, thanks. Okay, Cas, do me a favour? Call your brother.” 

“Which?” 

“Gabriel,” Dean says, “You’re freaking out and Gabriel’s gonna help. He loves your sorry ass, even if he’s a frigging nightmare. So after I’ve gone in, you call him. Okay?” 

“I can do that,” Cas says. 

“Hell yeah you can, Castiel. You got this. You wanna come in and meet the doc again?” 

“Dean, I’m scared,” 

Damnit, if that isn’t enough to make him want to cancel the whole thing just to make Cas feel better _just for this second_ , even if it’s illogical and stupid and probably wouldn’t actually help. Instead, Dean’s left doing the only thing he can; reaching across the car and pulling him into a hug and holding the guy till he’s two minutes late to his appointment and really _really_ needs to go. 

*

"I think I found your better half wondering around the corridor, Dean,” 

"Hey, Cas," Dean says cheerfully, "been telling Tessa here all about you," 

"Evidently," Cas says, looking a hell of a lot better than he did earlier. He’s still wearing Dean’s jacket, which makes the corner of Dean’s lips pull up into a smile without his explicit consent, but Cas at least looks a little more in control than he did before. "How was it?" 

"Real barrel of laughs," Dean mutters, "Still, looking forward to getting gone and not having to think about it till tomorrow.” 

"I'm cooking dinner," 

"You know I've got a lot of these to go? You don't wanna set a precedent here." 

"I'm sure I'll manage to keep up," Cas says, “Do you… are you ready to go? Is there anything you need to go over with Tessa?” 

“No, we’ve covered it, pretty sure. See you tomorrow, Tess,” Dean says, finishing off the coffee she bought him when he came out of treatment. “Let’s go, Cas,” Dean says, reaching for his hand with the intention to give it a quick squeeze, but instead getting Cas grip hold of it tight. He’s pretty sure he’s not getting that back. 

Well, Dean’s not about to argue about it. 

“I missed you today,” Dean says, when they’re back in the car, this time with Cas driving. 

“You told me to leave,” 

“No, I know,” Dean says, “Just, you weren’t there and it sucked,” 

“You _instructed_ me –“ 

“Cas, I know,” Dean interrupts, “I’m just saying. Yesterday was awesome and I was there just thinking about all of it. And I just…I can’t say that you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, with Emma and Claire and all I just... it's like without you, nothing good would have happened to me. Everything good in my life… I wouldn’t have any of it. Then I just missed you.” 

Cas just _looks_ at him for a moment, expression softening but unreadable, till the traffic lights change colour and he jerks back to reality. 

“Sam’s coming over for dinner to celebrate,” Cas says, which is absolutely news to Dean, but kind of lovely. The first day of radiation isn’t exactly something to celebrate really, but it’s still pretty awesome that Cas has gone through the effort of planning something, especially when Cas and Sam’s relationship is still a little tense. Dean’s been theoretically seeing him less, but then there was Christmas and New Year and the cancer thing, so in practice not a whole lot actually changed. Them talking it out seemed to make a bit difference, but it’s still… not exactly ideal, so Cas inviting Sam over definitely counts as full romantic gesture status, even if he doesn’t sound too enthusiastic right now. 

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” 

“I thought it would be nice,” Cas says, “Now I just want you to myself.” 

“I’m all yours every night, Cas,” 

“Perhaps,” Cas pouts, “But I would like tonight too,” 

“You could cancel,” 

“I bought three steaks,” 

“Well,” Dean says, “Probably should waste em, I guess. Maybe we can chuck him out early.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice breaking over into serious, “I cannot conceive of a world where someone wouldn’t have realised how glorious you are and loved you. Sometimes I’m unsure why everyone isn’t in love with you. You would have good things and be surrounded by good people, even if we’d never met.” 

“Nah,” Dean says, through the lump in the back of his throat, “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who could’ve done it. I’m kinda hard work. And needy.” 

“I’m both of those things too,” 

“We can both be each other’s saving graces’ here, Cas, I’m just… look, I just wanted to say it cause I’ve been thinking it, and cause you should hear it. Instead of me saving up all the good stuff I think about you in my head. I don’t ever want you doubting how I feel about you again, so, you get the mush. Okay?” 

“Most definitely,” Cas says, “Have you text Emma and Claire?” 

“Yep,” Dean says, “They’re both okay. Probably freaking out much less than we’ve been. I need to call Bobby when we get back. What time’s Sam coming? Thanks, by the way.” 

“You have time to call Bobby,” Cas says, pulling into the drive and parking the Impala badly enough that Dean would probably bitch at him for it on another day, but right now probably isn’t the time. Still, his baby does not deserve the rough treatment. “Are you sure you want to go into work tomorrow afternoon?” 

“We talked about this, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes as he pulls out his cell, “I’m not taking six weeks off work. I’ll be bored as hell.” 

“But you…”

“Will be _fine_ for weeks, anyway. If I gotta take time off later then I gotta take time off, but…”

“Dean, are you –“

“Quit mother-henning me,” Dean says, pulling his cell out his jeans pocket, “And hang up my jacket, Castiel, I’ll never find it if you leave it lying around.” 

“Assbutt,” Cas says, kissing his cheek before heading to the kitchen. 

By the time he’s off the phone to Bobby, Sam’s sat in the kitchen nursing a beer and Cas is stood at the hob wearing a frigging apron. “Too much oil in the pan, Cas,” Dean says, standing too close behind him and peering over his shoulder just to be an annoying dick. 

“Dean,” Cas hisses, turning round to glare at him. Dean takes the opportunity to kiss him on the forehead and swipe the guy’s beer, before crossing the kitchen to take the seat opposite Sam. “You’re infuriating,” 

“You love it,” Dean grins, “Heya, Sammy. Good day?” 

*

“I think I’m going to bed,” Cas says, after a really kick ass steak, two or three beers and one of the most relaxed evenings Dean’s had in a really long time. He’s still got to go back to the hospital tomorrow and the next day and the one after that and even after six weeks he might still have cancer. Really, their lives kind of suck at the moment, but it’s difficult to think about that when he’s full, on the other side of a few beers and has Cas and Sam sat round his dinner table. 

“Cas,” Dean says, looking up from his beer and catching his eye, “That some kind of hint I gotta decode or are you just going to bed?” 

“I could go?” Sam suggests. 

“No, Sam, I am just tired. Please, feel free to stay. No codes, Dean,” 

“All righty then,” Dean says, offering him a smile. 

“Thanks for food, Cas,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “You were great today, Cas.” 

“Goodnight,” 

“Be up in like an hour,” Dean says, standing up after Cas leaves to get himself some water (he got a lecture from several doctors about how healthy eating, keeping hydrating and getting enough sleep was all vitally important for treatment, so he’s giving it a go). “Want anything, Sam?” 

“I’m good,” Sam says, nodding to his half-finished beer. He’s drank his two beers painstakingly slowly cause he’s driving home and probably should be heading back soon-ish, because he’s got Robbie running the fort right now, and Robbie’s actually kind of a brat. He inherited Sam’s pig-headedness, but without some righteous cause to rebel against (aka John Winchester), he can get pointlessly wound up and superior in a way that has Mary spitting fury in under ten minutes flat. Dean is _so_ glad that Claire and Emma have never really butted heads like that, even if it’s probably because they don’t have all the shared genes. “You and Cas seem back to normal,” 

“Sam,” Dean warns, leaning on the kitchen counter and sipping his water. Cas dumped the plates in the sink rather than rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher, so chances are he’s still freaking out a bit. 

“I know, Dean, your marriage, your business,” Sam says, bitchfacing hard, “But I figure now neither of you are storming out of the room every five minutes you might want to talk about it,” 

“I swear this family is just a bunch of gossiping dicks,” Dean says, “I don’t need to talk about jack.” 

“It was an offer, Dean,” 

“Me and Cas are fine,” 

“You seem a little better than fine, Dean,” 

“Fine, we’re _awesome_. Deliriously happy.” 

“Aren’t you deliriously happy?” 

“No, Sammy, cause we’ve been dealing with a lot, Cas especially.” 

“Did you have a good date yesterday?” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling despite himself, “Yeah, man, it was awesome. All the old guys were there, you know? The ones we used to watch as kids and Cas didn’t know who the hell anyone was. I’m running round like an excited kid and Cas was just following me about. But, yeah, told him all about the trips Dad used to take us on, you know, and he actually gives a damn about all of it. I swear, Sam, I could tell Cas anything and he’d be interested. Got some shitty dinner food then headed back, stayed up half the night talking. And screwing, obviously, it was awesome. Cas is awesome.” 

“Yeah, Dean, all you had to say was _‘yes, Sam, we’re back to normal and we’re very happy together’ and that would have been fine,”_

 _“And screw you, Sam,” Dean says, rolling his eyes._

 _

“Jerk,” 

“Bitch,” Dean says, “Hey, you know my kids are trying to steal that?” 

“Really?” Sam asks, smile pulling at the corner of his lips. 

Maybe Sam has a point. Maybe they are back to normal, or at least well on their way too. Deliriously happy is probably an over stretch, but Dean’s pretty sure that he’s not expecting them to be. They’re okay. They’re managing it. They’ll hang on in there. They’ll be just fine.

_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this chapter is pretty much just fell out my keyboard after I watched 11.15, which I think is verrryy obvious if you're up to date, hah. Anyway, there's going to be one more chapter then I think that will probably be the last chapter of this series? Which is wild. Really really wild.


	9. Chapter 9

_February, 2048._

It might not be the most mature thing he's done in his fifty five years of existence, but quite frankly Dean does not give a damn. He's tired. He's been fed up of radiation for weeks, but now the 'fatigue' business they talked about has seeped into his bones. The damn leaflet really meant the 'painful bowel moment' thing and he's absolutely fucking done with needing to piss all the time. So, yeah, maybe he's lying face down on the sofa and refusing to acknowledge Cas' existence, but that's because it's gotten to the point where he's too frigging tried to drive home after radiation, so is relying on other people to drive him places. He's no help at work so there's no point him going, daytime TV isn't as good when it's not a novelty, and there's still nearly a whole two weeks left before he gets free of the hospital. 

He should have gone for the surgery. Maybe it would have fucked his sex life up more thoroughly and maybe the particularly brand of experimental radiation was supposed to be much easier on his body than major surgery (certainly doesn’t feel like it right now), but at least it would've been done quicker. 

"Dean," Dean doesn't move from his position on the sofa. "Can I get you anything?" 

"You can leave me the hell alone," 

"Dean," 

"Or you could get me a side order of _shut the fuck up_ ," Dean says, which gets nothing but an irritated tsk, which is annoying enough for Dean to peel himself off the sofa. "Will you quit acting like a butt hurt martyr because I don't want your frigging charity?" 

"Dean, I'm just trying to help you," 

"No, Cas, you're trying to make yourself feel better by running around after me, and it's goddamn selfish. I've spent this whole damn time babying you through all of this shit, and I ain't acting like some poor sick puppy for you to feel like you're being useful, because it's not actually my job to indulge you in not dealing with this, Castiel, so will you piss off?" 

"Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you are _sick,_ " 

"I fucking know, Cas, now will you let me deal? Alone?" 

"I'm not the only one being selfish," 

"What?" Dean demands, sitting up to glare at him. "Really. Explain how goddamn selfish I'm being." 

"I _asked_ if you wanted me to take the time off to drive you back from work tomorrow, and you said no, like the petulant, 'butt hurt' toddler you've been for the past week," 

"Because Sam -”

"Yes, but now Sam has parents evening -"

“Yeah, I get it. I'm such a damn inconvenience to everyone. I just don't get why Robbie can't borrow your damn car," 

"It's on the company insurance Information that only a direct member of the family can drive the car, Dean. As much as I would love to swap vehicles with you, I cannot. Robbie is the only one -”

"Robert Winchester is not driving my baby and my fucking _nephew_ is not driving me back from hospital. I'm not doing it." 

"Dean," 

"No." 

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Skip work,” 

“I can't, Dean, I have a meeting,” 

“So quit,” 

“I cannot _quit my job_ because you don't want Robert to drive your car, Dean, that’s completely unreasonable,” Cas says, which Dean’s pretty sure is actually a hundred percent correct on this occasion, but that’s not the point. It’s not _the point_ when Dean’s in the kind of pain that just persistently exists in his peripheries, and so goddamn tired that he can’t function no matter how much he sleeps. It’s not the point. 

“You're quitting _because_ the jobs sucks and you hate it.” 

“Dean, your sick pay – ” 

“– don't pin this on me, asshole,” 

'- I am not pinning _anything_ – ” 

“- Sam's got a car.” 

“Which has a policy against teenage drivers,” 

“What was the point of Robbie taking his test then?” 

“I think Sam was intending to purchase a vehicle – ” 

“Cas, I don’t care about whatever the hell Sam is doing with his wallet. If Sam borrows your car – ” 

“- Dean, he _can't_ – ” 

"Fine, I'll wait at the hospital till your meetings done." 

"You have a morning appointment, Dean," 

“How long can a frigging meeting be?” 

“If you would stop acting like a _child_ about your idiotic car – ” 

“Hey, fuck you, Cas,” 

“I _know_ that the side effects of the radiation – ” 

“- Do you?” Dean snaps, “Where I'm sitting you don't know crap about these side effects, and reading the damn leaflet don't count.” 

“Dean – ” 

“ – I feel like shit, Cas, and instead of giving me some goddamn space you're frigging haunting me to make yourself feel better and giving me fucking lectures – ” 

“I am trying _to help_ ,” 

“Then pick me up tomorrow,” 

“I can't, Dean,” 

“Then leave me the hell alone,” 

“This is a public room of the house, Dean,” 

“Fine,” Dean snaps, “I'm gonna go lock myself in the fucking bathroom, because if you're going to get frigging technical, we happened to co-own this house, they're all public frigging rooms.” “That's ridiculous,” 

“Your face is ridiculous,” Dean snaps back, standing up and storming up the stairs. 

In the end, he sleeps for an hour and a half (he's exhausted _all_ the damn time, at the moment) before waking up to the sound of the front door shutting. The TV is turned up loud enough to block out Cas' voice, but Dean's pretty sure he's talking to someone. Still, he waits till there's footsteps and a knock on the door rather than going downstairs to investigate, because he's sulking and also shirtless. 

"What?" 

"Hey, Daddy," Emma says, opening the doorway slowly. 

Dean sits up and tries to look like he's not a fully-fledged adult having a temper tantrum. 

"Hey Princess," Dean says 

"This is from Dad," Emma says, setting down a cup of coffee on the bedside counter and sitting on the edge of their bed. "Decaf," 

"Oh," Dean says, swallowing, "What did he...?" 

"He said you might appreciate a visit," Emma says, "And a lift tomorrow," 

"But you... work," 

"I have some spare flexy," Emma says. 

"Emma, you got a life. You didn't have to waste that coming home," 

"I know, Padre," Emma says, "it's also up to me what counts as a 'waste'. Anyway, you told me you felt _fine_."

"Well," 

"Come on, Padre, I said I could be around to help out if you needed it. I didn't know you weren't driving," 

"Too frigging tired," Dean says, "Should be better from next week. So Cas...?" 

"Didn't tell me you were sulking, no. I worked that out myself." 

"Emma, I..." 

"I know," She smiles, hand on his shoulder. 

"Cas, he... I'm not trying to..." 

"We know, Padre," Emma says, "Dad knows that too. He's just worried.” 

“He’s babying me,” 

“Padre, when was the last time you were ill?” 

“I don’t get ill,” Dean says, “’Cept in the head,” 

“So Dad has no idea what he’s doing,” Emma says, “You coming down for a bit? Dad’s been making meatballs,” 

“Well, I do love balls,” Dean says, which makes Emma pick up a pillow and throw it at him, “Okay, Princess, I’m in. Just… let me finish my coffee.” 

He winds up dragging one of Cas’ old college hoodies (that he’s pretty sure were _Dean’s_ first, anyway, or they wouldn’t fit him now), and pulls it over his head just for the nostalgic comfort that comes with clothing they should have thrown away decades ago before heading back downstairs. Cas sent him a decaf coffee and got Emma to take time off work to drive him to radiation, even though Dean _is_ being unreasonable and childish and a frigging pain in the ass. Cas is good. Cas is a damn good husband who probably didn’t deserve Dean’s sniping, even if he could probably have handled this cancer shtick better. He can add that to the list of stuff they probably could have handled better. 

“Hello, Dean,” 

“Hey,” Dean says, pausing to kiss him because he’s been a total jerk all day (week, more like). Cas lets him but doesn’t exactly engage. “Meatballs, huh?” 

“We had mince,” Cas says, voice terse, back ramrod straight. 

“Cas,” Dean says, resting a palm on his lower back, “I appreciate it,” 

“You are an infuriating _child,”_

“You love it,” Dean says, voice purposefully lower than normal, as close to his ear as he’s willing to get when Cas’ has a spatula and a saucepan of boiling pasta. 

“I tolerate it,” Cas says, but his voice is a little less tight. 

“Cas, Sweetheart,” 

“Dean, you –”

“ – I know, I know,” Dean says, “I’m sorry,” 

“Fine,” Cas says, turning around to let Dean pull him into a hug, sagging into it. Dean gets that same feeling of bone deep relief every single time Cas forgives him, even if it only took three lines of coaxes and misuse of his sometimes-bedroom-voice. “I forgive you for being insolent and immature, but _only_ because you’re going through treatment,” 

“And because of my rustic charms and good looks,” 

“Yes, that,” Cas says. Behind Cas’ shoulder, Emma gives him a thumbs up. “I’m sorry, too Dean.” 

“No sweat, Cas,” Dean says, taking a step back to sit in the chair opposite Emma, crisis averted. He much prefers that they’re back to a point where they deal with their crap in the then and now, even if at the moment they’re both still so desperate to forgive each other for anything they’ve been letting go of a lot of stuff way too easily. “How’s work, Em?” 

***

_March, 2048_

“So,” Claire says, from out of Dean's tablet. Most of her face is obscured by the bowl of cereal she seems to be eating, despite the fact it's like 2pm. Still, it’s a Saturday and Dean hasn’t even gotten dressed yet, so he’s probably not gonna judge his kids for doing the same. “I have a proposition for you,” 

“We're listening,” Castiel says, as Claire lays down her spoon. 

“So, you know how you said I couldn't work more than sixteen hours a week? Well, I've been sticking to that like a good girl,” 

“Is this the part where you ask us for money?” Dean asks, as Cas pulls his chair closer so they get a better view of Claire’s cereal. 

“I want to go on vacation,” Claire says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear in a classic nervous gesture. 

“If we're talking spring break, here – ” 

“No,” Claire interjects, “No thanks, Padre. I wanna... I wanna road trip around America. With Krissy.” 

“Krissy Krissy?” 

“Right, you love Krissy! And we haven't actually seen each other _in person_ for two years and it totally sucks. She's my best friend –”

“-yeah, I had one of those best friends, too.” 

“Padre. Silence,” Claire says, completely straight faced. It’s been a long time since Dean’s actually been able to wind her up with the Krissy-and-Claire forever talk, even though Dean’s pretty sure it’s a thing. They only split up because Krissy went to go live with her Aunt two hundred miles away, and that’s a recipe for unfinished business as far as Dean’s concerned. Even now, they talk most days, Dean’s pretty sure. 

“That's me told.” 

“Where did you want to go, Claire?” 

“Well, that depends on the budget and whether you say I can go.” 

“You're an adult, man, it's not up to us.” 

“Yeah, but I'm an adult who you're paying me rent for,” Claire says, which is… yeah, true. “It's only _fair_. So I have seven hundred dollars saved right now,” 

“Seriously? How?” 

“I have the money grandma Naomi left me, and I haven't really spent any of my wage, pretty much. We've been talking about it for a while. Krissy's got the money her parents left her. She got access when she turned 18. I have a few potential routes planned out that I can send you. We were thinking like a month, budget dependent. So, what do you think?” 

“Damn,” 

“The different routes have different perspective budgets attached. I know it's not good time, and with Dad quitting his job and everything,” Claire says, already backtracking. Honestly, though, Dean’s impressed. He knows that Claire’s an adult by a lot of laws of the land, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still _proud_ that she’s being responsible and proactive. He’s pretty sure most kids her age would have blown that kind of money on some new tech that Dean stopped being able to understand or keep up with in 2030, or illicit booze and parties. Claire’s _saved_ it. 

“You should take the impala,” Dean interrupts, which has Claire blinking at him. “She's a bitch to keep filling up, but she's made for the open road.” 

“Oh my god. Are you _serious_?” 

“Cas, am I serious, before I get myself into some deep waters here?” 

“You will need to keep us updated about your whereabouts. Preferable the name and room number every hotel you're staying in.” 

“Oh, for sure,” Dean agrees, “Personally, I’d be happier if you gave us direct access to your GPS.” 

“I can take _baby_?”

“Don't reckon your wheels would make a month on the road,” 

“But... but what are _you_ going to drive?” Claire asks, which is a fair question, given Cas has handed in his notice, then been talked into working twelve weeks’ notice rather than six, but that’s going to mean _farewell, company car_ (and good frigging riddance). 

“Me and Cas are going to Europe. If we can get the two to coincide...” 

“Excellent idea,” 

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_

“And yes we'll make a contribution to your petrol money after we've looked at your proposed budgets,” Castiel says, which is good, because it’s means they’re on the same wavelength. Even though, chances are, they’re going to sit down and properly work their finances out. Cas’ new job is a pay cut and that idea was definitely _not_ to spend all of Emma’s unused college fund on a vacation. They might just have to downscale their own plans, just slightly. 

“Dad! Padre! You guys are the best. I need to ring and tell Krissy. Holy shit!” 

“Tell Krissy we say hi,” Dean says, just before Claire lunges at the screen in what might just be an over-the-internet-hug. 

“She was very… excited,” Cas says dryly, after Claire has said thanks a dozen more times then hung up on them to speak to Krisy. 

“Worth every penny,” Dean grins, as Cas leans forward to kiss him. 

***

_April, 2048_

“Hey Ellen, waiting for a pretty important call,” Dean says, before Ellen's tone catches up with him. He was working on a serious kind of optimistic, which crosses straight over to just plain serious by the time Ellen's finished relaying the message. “We’ll fly out tonight,” Dean says, voice grim. “You reckon we need to get to the hospital tonight?” 

Cas' gaze has frozen on his mug of coffee, motion stilted halfway through his lips. 

“Copy that,” Dean says, “We'll be there as soon as we can be, Ellen.” 

“Bobby,” Cas says. It's flat. Not a question. They both know. 

“Pneumonia. Stable but critical. They reckon the paralysis is... outlook isn't good,” Dean says, as Cas runs a thumb over the crook of his elbow. Cas probably isn’t aware that he’s doing it, but a lot of his focus is channelled on _that_ sensation of Cas’ thumb across his skin. It’s easier than trying to think about the shake in Ellen’s usually steady voice, the fact that they might, that Bobby might… 

“Call Emma. I'll book flights.” 

“You're an angel, Cas. Don't book till I've tried to get through,” Dean says, stepping into the corridor. He’d like to take a minute to think, but there’s no time. They need to call Emma and Claire and get them to Sioux Falls, because… because _Bobby_.

“Did she pick up?” Cas asks, when he steps back into the room looking grim. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “We can pick her from work. Jake's gonna pack her a bag and bring it to the airport. Sam?” 

“He's spoken to Ellen. He can't take Mary and Robert out of school. They're coming up tomorrow night. I'll book three tickets. We have two hours,” Cas says, pausing to kiss his forehead. 

“I'll pack,” Dean says. Cas joins him a few minutes later, which is good. Dean's too in his own head to know what the hell they need to pack. _Bobby_. 

He calls Claire in the car on the way to the airport to relay the news and send her over enough dollars to pay for a flight out. Cas drives in his crappy company car, foot on the accelerator as Dean stares out the window. 

"Guess you'll have to give the car back in a couple of weeks," Dean says, staring out the window. "Huh," 

"I've been looking at alternative vehicle options in my breaks," 

"Dude, you've been looking into car options without me?” Dean asks, throat tight. 

“Dean, are you –”

“ – don’t, Cas,” Dean says, grip tight on his cell phone. Of all the people that Dean chose to become his family, Bobby’s probably the second most influential person in his life after Cas. He changed his trajectory. He _respected_ him before he was worth respect. He’s always been there with tough love and seemingly endless impatient patience. Bobby is one of the best people he’s ever known. 

“Has the nurse called?” 

“No,” Dean says, swallowing. 

*

Emma looks a little teary but solid when she gets in the back seat, by which point Dean’s freaking out a hell of a lot more than he was when they set off. Jake meets them in Departures with Emma’s bag and it might be the first time that Dean actually _likes_ the guy, because he pulls Emma into a hug and tells her she can call him if she needs to, but not to worry if she doesn’t want to. He looks genuinely worried, even though he’s never actually _met_ Bobby, but it’s the absolute understanding that Emma’s the one that gets to send the boundaries in this that Dean can’t help but approve of. 

Emma and Bobby have been tight knit ever since that first game of peekaboo. 

The phone call finally comes when they’re milling around getting coffee before the flight starts boarding. Emma’s just barely not freaking out, so Dean makes some lame excuse about Sam that Emma would never _usually_ by, before he’s wondering over to an empty corner of the airport. 

It’s a three minute long conversation. 

“Emma, can you get your father another coffee?” Cas says, after Dean’s back. He’s still got half of his first and he’s sure _caffeine_ is really what he needs right now, but it’s a decent enough excuse. 

“It didn’t work,” Dean says, and _fuck_ does he want to cry right now, “Confirmed not cancer free,” 

Cas’ expression doesn’t change. He remains absolutely steady and it’s another of those moments where Dean realises that he has no idea what he’d do or who he’d be if he didn’t have Cas. He can’t really focus on what a fucking privilege it is that Cas always comes through when Dean needs him (maybe Cas has been freaking out the past few months, but right now he’s solid as a rock; unmovable and absolutely stable. Dean needs that more than he knows how to express right that second), but it’s so astounding how he can _always_ count on Cas being there. The past year has been rough, but Cas is there, committed, glorious and absolutely on Dean’s side. He needs him so, so badly. He _needs_ him and Cas is right there. 

“What now?” 

“Surgery in two weeks,” Dean says, crushing his half empty coffee in his hands more or less by accident. It’s lukewarm. Cas passes him the paper towel that came with Cas’ own coffee for Dean to dry his coffee-covered fingers. “Today officially sucks.” Dean says, voice cracking. 

Emma returns with coffee, water, juice and more snacks that any of them could possibly need for the relatively short journey to Sioux Falls, but Dean winds up eating the too-sugar sweets Emma picked up compulsively until they’ve taken off. 

It’s the worst flight of his life, but for once it’s not because of his anxiety about aircraft. 

*

Sioux Falls General Hospital is laid out just slightly different from the place that Dean spent six fucking weeks needlessly undergoing radiation which didn’t even _work_ , but all of that drops out the back of his head when they reach the right hospital room. He’s a little ashamed that he’s had the thoughts spare to think about it, anyway, but it’s background noise the second he sees Ellen. 

Dean’s never seen her look _frail_ before, but suddenly she looks her age. She looks small. She looks like she might just be a woman who lost her husband and her daughter and had to bring up her grandson. She looks like she’s battled long and hard with life to get here. She stands up when Dean wraps his knuckles against the open hospital door to announce their presence, then she’s crossing the room to pull him into a hug. 

In the bed, Bobby’s hospital gowned, still unconscious, still pale, still breathing through a ventilator. Dean had been warned, but the shock waves reverberate down to his bone marrow. He’s right back to seven years ago and that accident that left Bobby wheelchair bound, except worse. Back then, he’d absolutely believed that Bobby was a fighter and would keep fighting. He kind of believed that Bobby was too damn stubborn to die. Lately, he’s not so sure. 

Will sits on one of the hospital chairs, staring at his cell phone, eyes sheened red. 

“Hey, Ellen,” Dean says, as Ellen clings onto him longer than she’s ever done before, “Any word?” 

“The next few hours are critical,” Will says, voice monotone, eyes fixed at the screen of his cell. 

“You got your phone call?” Ellen says, stepping back, her spark slipping back behind her eyes. Emma is pulling up a chair next to Will, reaching forward to take Bobby’s hand in a way that he’d _definitely_ only permit from Emma. Will won’t quit looking at his fucking phone, but then Bobby and Ellen pretty much bought him up. Bobby pretty much bought _Dean_ up, so Dean can relate. He gets it. “Give me some good news, boy.” 

“Sorry Ellen,” Dean says, Cas standing close behind him, his hand solid on Dean’s back. “I got none to give you.” 

*

Robert Singer dies two days later. 

The funeral is three days before Dean’s scheduled surgery. 

Emma gives the eulogy. 

***

_May, 2048_

"So that's it?" Claire asks, as Dean has one hand holding his cell out, the other vaguely over the back of Cas' seat in the impala. Conferencing calling them both from the car was an ace idea that Cas gets all the credit for, because… damnit, the whole lot of them need some good news. 2048 has been completely crappy year so far. They’ve all been struggling. "You're cancer free," 

"100%, Sweetheart," Dean beams, “back on tip top form," 

"That's brilliant, Padre," Emma says. 

"Amen, Princess," Dean grins. 

"Tell them the surprise they assisted with has almost been unveiled," 

"Cas says we're on the way to the hotel you guys picked out for some aggressively celebratory lovemaking," 

"I bet you twenty dollars that is not what he said," Claire says, "Eurgh." 

"Hey, I'm told our sexcation was your idea," 

"I said a minibreak, Jesus." 

"Don't blaspheme, Claire.'

"Cas is whining," 

"When are you going to get hands free like the rest of the world?" Emma asks, like Dean’s ever going to allow something like that to happen to his baby. 

"In the impala? Never. I hear one damn word of it she gets cremated with me. Or you could drive my corpse off the top of a cliff in it. Whatever." 

"So d'you know where you're going yet?" 

"Cas is using the sat nav in his phone. Only reason I'm letting him drive is to humour the surprise thing. Reckon we're half an hour off," 

"The sat nav says twenty minutes," 

"But you're driving," 

"Assbutt," 

"Love you too, Cas," 

"If you're just going to flirt at each other, I'm hanging up," Claire says, "Enjoy your enthusiastic lovemaking or whatever other awful thing you said that has scarred me for life," 

"Just helping you with Psych 101," 

"Yeah, Jake's due over in ten. But that's awesome, Padre." 

"Copy that," Claire says, "best news ever." 

"Love you all," Emma says. 

"You too, Em. And you Claire Bear. 

"Yeah yeah, ditto and crap. Hanging up now," 

"Me too, bye parents. See you soon!" 

Dean grins and hangs up, to find that Sam has replied to his cancer free text with a big smiley face. 

"We have the best damn family," Dean declares, scrolling down to find Ellen's number, cause she could use some good news too, and a phone call. Dean’s been calling her enough that she’s probably sick of hearing his voice, but she knows he’d stop if she asked. He’s just worried. He’s pretty sure the only reason Ellen made it passed losing Jo was because she had Will to face on, but now Will’s sixteen and spends a couple of nights a week at his Dad’s… its not exactly the same as being needed by a six year old kid, even though Will’s grief absolutely means that he _needs_ Ellen. Still, they’re not going to talk about that today. Instead, Dean’s going to hit dial and tell her the crappy surgery he didn’t really want did the trick after all. 

Cas smiles out the front windscreen, cruising down the highway at exactly the speed limit because that's the kind of guy Cas is. It’s the first time Dean’s felt properly _happy_ for a while, because he’s had grief pulling him one way and the rest of life happening all around him, but it’s so unbelievably good to take some time out from all of it. 

* 

"We could scope out potential venues for breakfast," 

"We could," Dean says, crowding Cas near the door of the hotel room, dropping a kiss to the lowest point of Cas' neck he can get to with that damn shirt on. 

"Or perhaps wander to the main street." 

"Another interesting option," Dean says, freeing Cas' top button and kissing slightly further down. 

"Or, we could -"

"Get naked?" Dean supplies. 

Cas smiles, drops the bag off his shoulder and pretty much launches himself at him. 

* 

"Dean," Cas says, voice gentle, "I made you coffee." 

"Like that's going to fucking help," 

"Dean," Cas says, voice a little firmer this time, "I think you're -"

"If you finish that sentence with over reacting, I swear to god Cas I'm getting straight back in the car and driving home." 

"I'd suggest putting some pants on first," Cas says. 

"Newsflash: not the time to make fun of me." 

"Be that as it may, I do think you're overreacting." 

"My dick doesn't work, Cas! Pretty sure I'm handling this with all the modicum and dignity the situation requires," 

"You mean sulking, naked and refusing to talk to me," 

"Yes," Dean says, returning to his previous task of hiding his face in the nice hotel pillows and trying to reason himself into a headspace where this doesn't feel like the end of the world. "This has never happened to me before." Cas' silence is pointed enough that Dean dislodges his head unable to glare at him. "It doesn't count if you're that drunk, shut up. That happens to all guys." 

"As does having trouble getting an erection after serious prostate surgery." 

"You think you could help rather than being a smart ass over there?" 

"What would you like me to do, Dean?" 

"Don't know," Dean mutters. 

"How about this?" Cas asks, abandoning his coffee, to slot himself in front of Dean and rearrange Dean's arms for him, till they're holding him. Dean shifts a little to make the position actually comfortable and pulls Cas in tighter. 

"S'good." 

"I know you wanted to engage in some 'aggressively celebratory lovemaking', but - "

"Forget frigging lovemaking, I wanted to fucking fuck you." 

"So romantic," Cas smiles, twisting round to kiss him, "Nevertheless, Dean -"

"And it wasn't just me, dude, all of _you_ was with the goddamn program." 

"Do I have to remind you of the serious surgery again?" 

"Please spare me," Dean says, "What if that's it? The end of the road for me and my dick. Finito." 

"There are other ways to have sex, Dean." 

"Yeah but we don't know if those are gonna be the same either. This is all bullshit. I just... didn't see this coming," 

"Dean, you've had erections since the surgery. It's only today." 

"You booked us a damn hotel room though, Cas, and I ruined it." 

"You haven't _ruined_ anything. Your abysmal mood is admittedly not what I was anticipating, but I imagine I would feel equally the same if it were my anatomy that wouldn't cooperate." 

"You're so fucking charming," 

"Dean, please don't turn this into more than what it was," 

"What it _was_ was bad enough." 

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.” 

“I'm not even embarrassed, I'm just pissed off. I feel _cheated_ and you should do to,” 

“Obviously I'm disappointed,” 

“Fucking great. Thanks.” 

“What do you want me to say Dean? I could tell you that, no, I'm not bothered in the slightest that we aren't going to have sex, because I still get to spend quality time with my charming, lovely husband whom I love a great deal, which would be absolutely true, but would only serve to irritate you. It's also true that I _was_ looking forward to it and that my commiseration prize of a husband who will somehow find fault in anything I say or do because he's upset is not what I wanted for this evening,” 

“This just fucking sucks.” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “This absolutely sucks.” 

“This year's sucked. The past two years have sucked. I've barely been keeping my shit together, man. I don’t… I don’t know what the hell I’m doing or how I’m feeling about any of this stuff. About _Bobby_ and now my one bit of good news that was supposed to be seeing us through till the next road block’s all messed up. What are you doing?” Dean asks, As Cas' hands land on his shoulders. “No offence, buddy, but that aint gonna do it.” 

“That wasn't my intension,” Cas says, “You need to relax.” 

“I'm super relaxed,” Dean snaps, as Cas digs a thumb in one of the knots in his back. “So relaxed that my frigging dick –”

“Hush, Dean,” Cas says, “Do you remember when you accidentally said I was the love of your life?” 

“Man, why do I always say crap like that by accident? Right after our first big argument, right?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “I thought about this then.” 

“About my dick surrendering?” 

“Yes,” Cas says again, “About growing old together and all that entails.” 

“And I'm the one whose dicks died in your little growing old fantasy?” 

“Dean, it was my day dream. Of course it was your genitalia.” 

“Well, I'm pretty I wasn't fifty six at the time. We're middle aged at best. This wasn't part of the deal.” 

“Dean,” 

“No, I'm serious, Cas. Getting old aint romantic. Look at Bobby, Cas. Aging changed him. It sunk him. He hated not being able to do stuff… and it's just crap. Sure, I had this notion that it'd be all beautiful and cutesy. We'd gracefully get grey and crinkled then our frigging dicks would fall off from old age – ” 

“- as far as I'm aware, that has happened to exactly zero people – ” Cas interjects. 

“ – then we'd gracefully retire to our mutual grave holding hands.” 

“That is a lovely if impractical image,” 

“Instead, I can't drink alcohol without feeling like I've already died the next day. My back hurts if I drive for more than an hour. Can't even make perky nipples joked with integrity any more. I'm beginning to actually believe I need to watch my cholesterol and that's not even mentioning _today_ ,” Dean says, as Cas' thumbs inexpertly make a go of the knots in his back. "I mean, yeah, it's been a fucking privilege to watch you transform from this teenage twink -"

"If _anyone_ was a twink, Dean -" 

"- to this goddamn beautiful, amazing, capable _adult_ and father and husband. So, yeah, I feel like watching you and sharing decades with you and just being with you has damn near made me wise, and I'd be totally crazy if we weren't riding out this aging thing together, but it doesn't mean that getting old is anything but totally crappy. And _cancer_. Cancer is a total steaming pile of crap.” 

“No one is arguing with that,” Cas says, “but you are now _cancer free_.” 

“Yep.” Dean says, “And erection free.” 

“I'm hungry,” Cas says, sitting up. “We should go for dinner,” 

“Thought we were gonna order room service.” 

“I want to go out,” Cas says, voice sharp enough that Dean's not about to argue with him. It's... well, the evening hasn't exactly worked out well for Cas, either. Dean's not the only one who took a direct hit from a curveball. 

Dean puts on his shirt. 

"You know," Dean says, once they're walking down the street the hotel receptionist said was good for food, "it's not... it's not you. You still rock my world." 

"I know, Dean," Cas says, voice soft. 

"Okay," Dean swallows, "Don't want you to think..." 

"It crossed my mind," Cas says, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk like a total freak, which Dean would definitely not have been prepared for if he hasn't been married to the guy for decades. "But I'm fully aware that you're attracted to me," 

"Very attracted," Dean says, as Cas tucks a hand in the crook of Dean's elbow and leans forward to kiss him, like middle age men are allowed to do that kind of shit in the middle of the sidewalk. "Cas," 

"And then I reminded myself of the serious prostate surgery you had a month ago," 

"Gotta say, you being such a smart ass is a total boner killer," Dean says, which makes Cas smile, which is a real win, even if Dean's not entirely sure he's at joking about it stage. "We should get some food," Dean says, shoving his hands in his pockets and offering Cas a smile back. They’ve both dealt with a lot lately. Cas has seen him through another shitty bout of paternal grief, so Dean can probably pretend he's totally cool with this new shitty development, as long as no one but Cas ever _ever_ finds out about it. And maybe his cancer Doc. 

"I'm aware aging is neither as glamorous or dignified as popular culture told us it would be," Cas says, "but it's still an honour to do it with you," 

"Snap," Dean says. 

"And I truly believe that, whatever happens, whether or not this is a permanent issue, whether either of our penis' do fall off due to age, whether the cancer returns, whether I am diagnosed with some debilitating and frustrating illness tomorrow, whether either of us lose our minds, whoever we lose, however either of us mess up, however inadequate and unhelpful my reaction has been today we will work through it and survive it, because I mean to love and cherish you forever," 

"Wanna get a burger?" Dean says, voice slightly mangled, "Drove past a place on the way in that said something about Chorizo burgers." 

"That sounds excellent," 

"Cool," Dean says, "I got no idea how you can still throw me when you say stuff like that, but yeah. You're the best. Gonna buy you one of those World's Greatest Husbands mugs." 

Cas laughs at that, leaning into his side again, almost accidentally. 

"Sorry I majorly freaked," 

"Considering the situation, I’m unsure of it classifies as a major freak out. A Lieutenant freak out, perhaps." 

"Man, how old is that joke now?" 

"Not quite as old as you, pensioner," 

"Watch it," 

“Are you okay, Dean?” 

“Yeah,” Dean exhales, glancing towards the sky for a few seconds, “I mean, no, I’m not. There’s Bobby and then there was the cancer and, just, you’re new job isn’t exactly ideal and we only have one car and I feel like all these big stupid gestures we figured we’d make to help our marriage are actually just giving me a massive headache, because life keeps happening and it’s… difficult. I’ll be okay. I just… need us to go get really really greasy burgers and watch a shitty reality TV and pretend we’re still in our twenties,” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Cas says, slipping his elbow through the crook of his arm and offering him one of those ground-breaking eye-crinkling smiles. 

****

_June, 2048_

"Hey, Claire bear," Dean says through a mouthful of toast, Cas' cell tucked under his ear. It’s one of those Saturdays where they have absolutely nothing to do and no plans. It’s nearly midday and Cas hasn’t got up yet and Dean’s definitely planning on cooking a full on breakfast-for-lunch deal with pancakes, eggs and bacon. "Want me to get Cas?" 

"Wanted to talk to both of you," Claire says, but her voice is clogged up with tears in a way that makes Dean's stomach drop and twist. 

"Yeah, I'll... two seconds," Dean says, covering the speaker of the phone and calling 'Cas' in the direction of the stairs. He emerges wearing Dean's dressing gown. He’s started doing that again lately. 

“He's here, Sweetheart.” 

“Hey dad,” Claire chokes out. 

“What's wrong Claire?” 

“I just...” 

“Claire,” 

“Would you still love me if I got an abortion?” Claire asks, all in a rush, then there's just _sobbing_ down the other end of the phone. Back in the kitchen, Dean feels like his hearts in a blender that someone just set to pulverise, and Cas is very, very still. 

"Claire," Cas says, deep and commanding, "There is absolutely nothing you can do that would stop us loving you." 

“Right,” Emma scoffs, "What if I killed Emma and Padre?" 

"Then I would have lost two of the individuals I love most and would not be prepared to lose the other,” Cas says. 

"Claire, baby, what's going on?" 

"Was so frigging stupid," Claire says, "I just...I was drunk and I just _screwed up_ and I'm hiding in the dorm toilets too scared to pee on this stupid stick because I don't know what to do and I just... I needed to know what you'd think." 

The second Dean’s brain catches up to the fact that Claire hasn’t done the damn test yet he almost drops the phone in relief. 

"I think you're my baby girl and I'm gonna support you whatever," Dean says, "but first off you glottal do the test, Claire Bear." 

"I don't want to," 

"Waste of ten dollars if you don't," 

"Padre," 

"We're right here, Claire," Cas says. 

"Okay okay but I... wait, I'm putting you on the sink. But _stay_."

"You bet it," 

"You really wouldn't hate me forever?" Claire asks, from further away now. 

"Why would we hate you?" 

"Cause you tried to adopt for years and years and here am I with my totally functioning reproductive system and I just...what if I end up with a girl and we want kids and we have to go through the same _knowing_ that I... and Amelia didn't. She could've. I bet she thought about it. But I don't think I can _not_. Oh my god, this is so weird… I can’t believing I’m peeing and you’re on the phone," 

“Yeah, it’s not how I saw my Saturday going,” Dean says, as Cas reaches forward to grip Dean’s hands tight. He’s glad Claire just called rather than video-called, because it means he doesn’t have to hide his facial reactions (or get the video image of Claire doing a pregnancy test, obviously). "You done?" 

"Yeah I'm just... washing my hands. Okay, two minutes." 

"I'll put a timer on," Dean says, reaching for his own phone, "Okay," 

"How can I justify an _abortion_ when the only reason I'm alive is cause Amelia didn't? She was younger than me and addicted and screwed up and I'm just... Padre, Dad. Help.” 

“Hey, Claire, this is up to you, okay? It's your choice. It's a fucking shitty choice, but you gotta do what you can live with.” 

“Bearing in mind that you haven't done the test yet,” Cas adds, tightening his grip on Dean’s. 

“Yeah, and that,” Dean agrees, “People screw up sometimes, Claire.” 

“I don't want to drop out of college,” Claire says, “It's so _selfish_ but – ” 

“ - We're talking about your life here. Maybe. Okay? That's important.” 

“Don't tell Emma. She'll... she won't understand. She's so _sensible_ ,”

“Of course we won’t,” Cas says, gently, “Your sister cares about you very much,” 

“Yeah,” Claire says, “Doesn’t mean she’s not a judgemental bitch sometimes,” 

“Letting it fly cause you’ve got enough to deal with right now,” Dean says, “But –”

“ – no I’m… I don’t mean like that, I just… Emma wouldn’t _do_ this so she wouldn’t… and I can’t face her.” 

“People mess up, Claire,” Cas says, “Emma included. However, it’s absolutely your right not to tell her,” 

“And you really don’t hate me, Dad? You’re so all over this stuff, and I let you down. I didn’t… it was dumb. I’m dumb.” 

“I love you, Claire, and that is an absolute.” 

“Okay,” Claire says, “Okay. How are we doing for time?” 

“Uh, just under a minute to go,” 

“This is the longest minute of my life,” Claire says, sucking in a breath, “How’s your Saturday?” 

“Good,” Dean says, “I’m gonna cook pancakes. Cas is applying to do an online masters course. Something social justice-y. He read me the bio, sounds pretty cool.” 

“That’s great,” Claire says, “You still not liking the new job?” 

“It is nice to have a boss that doesn’t regularly threaten to fire everyone in my team. Nevertheless, I’m unsure.” 

“Time, Claire,” Dean says. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Claire says, “No offence, Dad, but I don’t…”

“It’s fine, Claire,” Cas says, “What does it say?” 

“I can’t look,” 

“Claire,” 

“Dad, can you like shoot me one of those prayers you and Emma always go on about? Like, in your head. Before I look.” 

“Of course,” 

“Whatcha think he’s been doing since you first started talking,” Dean says, as Cas’ grip on Dean’s hand slackens tightly. 

“Amen,” Cas says, sending him a dark look. 

“Okay, okay, it’s… oh, thank god,” Claire says, “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not… holy crap. Okay. Okay. It’s okay. Thank _fuck_. I haven’t slept for like three days. Holy… Dad, Padre, thank you,” 

“Go get yourself a coffee and take a break, okay? Forget college work till tomorrow and get some sleep, you hear me?” 

“Loud and clear,” Claire says, voice still shaky, “And I am _never_ having sex again, holy crap. At least with men.” 

“Good plan,” Dean says, “Saves me having another heart attack,” 

“Thank you,” Claire says, “I know I’m super lucky to have the kind of parents who I can ring when I’m having a frigging pregnancy scare. I just… I needed to talk to you both. So glad I’m coming home soon.” 

“Us to, Claire bear,” Dean says, “Lawrence just ain’t the same without you.” 

“I need to leave this bathroom,” Claire says, swallowing, “At least it put finals into perspective,” 

“Always a silver lining.” 

“I’m gonna get that coffee,” Claire says, “Can I call you back in a bit?” 

“Always, Claire,” Dean says, till the dial tone sounds. Dean turns to Cas, who’s pale and still very very still and raises an eyebrow, “Remember when I told you parenting had gotten all easier? Yeah, I was wrong.” 

***

_July, 2048_

Claire's been home for two weekends and Emma is visiting the day Lucifer calls, and Dean can just tell that it's bad news the second Cas' tone of voice changes. He's pacing back and forth in the kitchen when he asks _how long_ and Dean's stomach clenches, tracking Castiel's facial expressions. It's a four minute phone call. Emma realises at the same time as Dean, but Claire looks up from her phone towards the last few seconds, just in time to see Cas hang up and throw his mug at the wall. It doesn't crack until it hits the floor, then it falls clean in two. 

"Why?" Cas demands of the room at large, "Why?" Dean knows better than to answer, just keeps his eyes fixed on Cas. "Six months to a year. He's _sixty two_ , Dean. That is not old." 

"Lilth and the kids doing okay?" 

"I don't care about that hateful woman," Cas snaps, which is probably the most unrestrained the guys ever been about Lucifer's wife. Generally, he maintains a steely silence about all of his brother's respective other halves, for no other reason than to make a passive aggressive point about how they should keep their opinions about Dean to themselves (as far as Dean can work out, anyway). "I won't lose anyone else. I won't." 

"Cas, buddy, we've all taken this past year pretty hard." 

"Lucifer is not _your_ family, Dean, you don't understand. Kidney disease. Fucking kidney disease. I don't... why?" Cas asks, voice breaking, which is the cue for Dean to stand up and pull the guy into a hug. The anger thing has run its course for now, which means Dean can step in. "He's my _brother_ ,"

"I know, Cas," Dean says, "they doing anything?" 

"He's on the transplant list," Cas says, "which..." 

"Yeah," Dean interjects. 

"They said he'd likely not survive surgery anyway. Dialysis and a waiting game," 

"Lucifer isn't exactly patient," 

"He can be," Cas frowns, "Perhaps..." 

"Nope," Dean says, "if he's not gonna survive surgery, Cas, you can't." 

"He already told me he wouldn't accept it if I did," Cas says, eyes shining, resting his palms flat against Dean's chest, half leaning forward. "Regardless of your feelings about Lucifer, he does know me exceptionally well." 

"He underestimates you. They all do, even Gabe. It's the curse of being the baby," Dean says, "What can I do, Cas? Not about kidney disease, cause you know I can't do jack about that, what can I do _for you_ right now," 

"I don't know," 

"How you feeling?" 

"Tired," 

"Okay," Dean says, "You want a coffee? Tea? A beer?" 

"Yes," Cas says, "I feel as though I have swallowed a knife and now it's difficult to breath past it. Everything tastes sour. I'm angry but it hurts," 

"I'll get the tea," Claire says, scrapping her chair back. 

"The first bit," Dean says, "reckon that's grief. Kind of a shitty mix of sadness, surprise and regret? Yeah. The sour thing... guessing that's regret too. It figures. You've been trying fix things with Lucifer for a long time, now you're short on time," 

"Then why am I angry?" 

"Because it sucks?" Dean suggests. 

"Okay," Cas says, “Dean,” 

“I know, Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean says, pulling him in a little closer, “I know it doesn’t help, but I really fucking love you.” 

“Thank you,” Cas says, expression slightly pained. Claire’s finished making the tea, but looks like she doesn’t know what to do next. Emma is just watching them both. “I need to call Gabriel. He’s screening Lucifer’s calls.” 

“You want me to take Michael?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “Bu you shouldn’t. I will… later,” 

“Kay, Cas,” Dean says, as he steps back, takes his tea with a forced smile and disappears into the other room. 

“Poor Uncle Lucifer,” Claire says, glancing at the table, “Wow, it’s really a bad year to be a Winchester-Novak.” 

“He spoke to you about his feelings,” Emma says, voice quiet but unwavering. 

“Well, more yelled,” Dean says, swallowing, “But yeah, damn, you’re right. He did. He actually… okay, yeah, I’m gonna… two minutes,” Dean says, then he follows Cas into his study, where he’s staring at his cell. “Cas,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, frowning. 

“So, totally inappropriate side,” Dean says, “You remember the last night of our big fight? When you said you’d try and come to me more when you were having a hard time?” 

“Yes,” 

“Nailed it,” Dean says, smiling slightly, “Thanks, Cas, I know it doesn’t come easy. It’s just… yeah, I appreciate it a lot. Hell of a lot,” Dean says, then audibly swallows, “I’ll let you get back to your phone call.” 

“Dean,” Cas says, expression not quite impassive, “Will you stay while I call them?” 

“Yeah,” 

***

_August, 2048_

“Do you care about any of the ancient architectural masterpiece in this city, Dean, or was this decision purely based on the fact that they rumoured to make good pizza?” 

“Dude, have you _had_ a slice of this pizza? Hot damn,” Dean says, through a mouthful of possibly the best pizza he’s ever had in his life, and Dean’s had a hell of a lot of pizza in his time. It’s something to do with the tomato sauce, Dean’s pretty sure, but then there’s competing fact of the _mozzarella_ and the _base_. Goddamn, it’s incredible, and Cas is missing out. 

“Dean, the history of Rome –”

“- Cas, eat a slice of my pizza. Do it. Screw your weird Caesar salad.” 

“We had pizza for lunch,” 

“This is _better_ than lunch. Try it,” Dean grins, making a point to lean over the table and bat his eyelash. Cas smirks at him. “For me, Cas.” 

“Fine,” Cas says, as he accepts a slice of pizza. Dean leans over to steal one of Cas’ croutons to compensate, which gets him a glare. 

Cas takes a bite. 

“Anyway, it's not just pizza. There's pasta, ice cream, coffee. And come on, the wine is pretty damn good too.” 

“This is incredible.” 

“Damn right it is,” Dean says, as Cas mournfully looks over at Dean's side of the table. “You shouldn't have picked a salad to prove a point. And just cause it has Caesar in the salad don't mean it's Italian,” 

“Actually –” 

“- we can half and half,” Dean says, dragging both of their plates to the middle of the table. 

"You are aware that requires you eating half a salad?" 

"Sometimes you have a point 'bout me looking after myself better," Dean says, taking one of the lettuce leaves most covered in dressing. It’s not awful. It’s fine. It’s pretty good for a few leaves and some croutons. There’s bacon. 

"Thank you," 

"Don't get used to it,” Dean says, “We can go to the Colosseum tomorrow. I’m kind of enjoying just hanging out. Considering this time last year we were freaked about all this alone time, we haven’t had two minutes to ourselves for an age.” 

“I know,” Cas agrees, taking another slice of Dean’s pizza. 

“And vacation Cas is pretty hot,” Dean says, smiling at him over his glass of wine, “Rocking the whole open collar and sunglasses thing. Maybe I don’t get why a load of old buildings is supposed to make a place romantic, but I’m definitely down for getting down later.” 

“Is there any Wi-Fi here?” 

“Dude,” 

“Apologies,” Cas says, “Claire has text me telling me she wishes to video call,” 

“Oh, awesome. Probably. I’ll try flag down the waiter,” Dean says, leaning back in his chair. 

“You were saying something about romantic old buildings?” 

“Ha ha,” Dean says, “Oh, hey, it’s on a sign. Thanks, tourist traps. It’s Italia47. Huh, original,” 

“I’m connecting,” Cas says, taking another slice of pizza, “This is delicious,” 

“So am I,” Dean grins, “You want some?” 

“After dinner,” Cas says, pulling out his cell phone and prodding it, “Hello Claire, hello Krissy,” 

“Dad, hey, thank God it’s you. Are you alone? I’ve crashed the Impala,” 

“Claire, that stopped being funny a week ago,” Dean says, loud enough for his voice to carry. 

“Please, I’m hilarious,” Claire grins, “How’s Roma?” 

“Pizza’s good,” Dean says, through a mouthful of his last slice, “Survived the flight,” 

“You can’t see this, but I’m doing a patronising slow clap,” 

“Krissy,” Dean interrupts, “How are you? You’re nice to me sometimes,” 

“Hey Dean,” Krissy smiles, waving for the tiny screen of Cas’ phone screen, “How’s Europe?” 

“They have wifi and pizza. It’s kind of like America, but with European people.” 

“Astounding observation,” Cas says, lips tilted upwards. “How’s the road trip?” 

“Well,” Claire says, exchanging a look with Krissy, “It’s been a… uh, interesting day,” 

“Do tell,” Dean says, leaning back on his chair in this stupidly lovely Italian restaurant that they probably shouldn’t be video calling in the middle of. 

*

It's a little earlier than the middle of the night, but the jet lag thing took it out of him and he was fully intending to hit the hay at nine pm then keep on sleeping til morning, but it's half twelve and suddenly he's groggily awake. It takes a minute to work out why, but then he focuses in on the problem; Cas is up. 

"Hey," Dean says, after he's wondered onto the open balcony, where Cas is stood in his pyjamas bottoms, shirtless. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “I think Bobby would have liked a postcard.” 

“You think?” 

“He'd have pretended to disapprove, but he'd have stuck it on the fridge,” Cas says, looking out across the semi-decent (but reasonably price) view of Rome, arms pulled around himself. “I miss him,” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, throat dry, “Yeah,” 

“Why are we here, Dean?” Cas asks, “You tried to resolve an argument nine months ago by suggesting this vacation and now we’re here. Everything has changed since then. Our marriage has changed. You have changed. We’re not… we’re not _struggling_ any more, Dean, at least not separately.” 

“You’re overthinking it, Cas,” Dean says, “We just took a vacation. People do that. Married people do that. We’re just gonna have a good time and then go back. Come back to bed.” 

“Soon,” 

“Kay,” Dean says, “Love you,” 

“I know,” 

“Good,” Dean says, heading back inside. He’s almost back to sleep again when the bed dips and Cas leans forwards to kiss his shoulder blade, then shuffles a little bit closer. He’s cold. Dean stretches his arm across their bed so Cas can make himself comfortable. 

“I know Bobby was your father figure,” Cas says, leaning close to him, “But I miss him a great deal,” 

“Me too, Cas,” Dean exhales, “And he’s yours to mourn too. Been your kinda father in law at least since we got hitched. Before that, even. When I took off with Dad, back when we were kids, Bobby was looking out for you.” 

“He was a very good man,” 

“The best,” Dean agrees. 

“Your freckles are very cute today,” Cas mutters, tracing Dean’s cheek bone with his thumb, leaning over him. 

“What?” 

“I don’t compliment you enough,” Cas says, all serious and intense, the emotional stuff still sitting behind his eyes. There’s a lot of light flooding in from outside. Dean’s kind of surprised he managed to get to sleep in the first place. “You’re glorious,” 

“Thanks,” Dean throws back, smirking slightly, “You doing okay?” 

“Largely, yes,” Cas says. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes,” Cas says again, arranging Dean’s arm around his shoulders, then turning into Dean’s side. 

“We should sleep. Lot of pizza to eat tomorrow,” 

“Dean,” Cas says, a whispered, faux-disgruntled, “We did not travel this far in order to eat pizza,” 

“Well I certainly didn’t travel all the way here to eat frigging salad,” Dean says. Cas frowns at him, all cute and pouty in the dark, and Dean’s chest aches with how much he fucking loves the guy. Damn, but Cas is incredible. 

“You’re an imbecile,” 

“Wanna make out?” Dean grins, which Cas answers by throwing a leg over Dean’s hips, cupping his face and kissing him reverently enough that he can practical _feel_ Cas scraping back his sarcasm and his give-him-hell attitude, leaving exposed pure-Dean in its wake. 

***

_September, 2048._

“Cas, if you don’t like your job –”

“ – I don’t dislike my job, Dean,” Cas says, voice heated, “I merely said it wasn’t as fulfilling as I would have liked.” 

“Well you know what, Sweetheart, this ain’t Disney. The world doesn’t exist for you to feel _fulfilled_. In fact, this marriage don’t exist for you to feel fulfilled. That’s just an occasional side effect.” 

“I am fulfilled in our marriage,” 

“Then _why_ is your frigging job satisfaction so goddamn important for you? I don’t _get_ it. I don’t get why nothing I do can make you fucking happy, Cas, because there’s always something up. What happens when we retire, huh? Are you gonna spend our twilight years being vaguely dissatisfied?” 

“No,” Cas says, “No. I’m in love with you,” 

“Yeah, you are,” Dean says, “You’re _in love with me_. What does that even mean anymore?” 

“It means everything, Dean, it means all of this has a point. My opinion on my job isn’t supposed to be a personal insult. We are just _wired_ differently.” 

“Right, because all I care about is everyone being together and happy,” Dean half spits, “Because I’m unambitious and such a goddamn Hufflepuff –“

“ – this is exactly why you’re a better person than me,” 

“Bullshit, Cas. Bullshit,” Dean says, just as the doorbell rings. Dean clenches his jaw and resists the urge to fold his arms, just because he’s aware that it’s childish. Cas rolls his eyes but grabs hold of Dean’s t-shirt to pull him into a kiss anyway, because they’re back to the usual status quo where they at least half deal with arguments before they see other people. 

“You are everything that’s important to me, Dean,” Cas says, then he continues onto the door. 

“Hey, Dad,” Emma says, “I heard raised voices,” 

“We’re debating politics,” Dean deadpans from the kitchen, “Hey Princess,” 

“Did Claire tell you her news?” 

“Hmm?” Dean asks, “Don’t think so. Cas? She usually tells you stuff first.” 

“No contact from Claire since Thursday,” 

“Go on then, Em, spill.” 

“Claire should really been telling you,” 

“Get her on the phone, babe,” Dean says, slapping his hands on his thighs and standing up to give Emma a hug, even though it isn’t the end of the world and no one’s got cancer and it’s no one’s funeral. Cas scoots a little closer and mutters the traditional ‘I’m not your car’ while fishing out his cell. Frankly, Dean can’t be bothered to be mad. He knows Cas is just different. He knows it’s not unreasonable to what to find fulfilment from your job. This time, they might just be butting heads for something new to talk about. Cas slides his thumb over to speaker and leans into Dean’s side. “Maybe you should quit working altogether and become my house husband. Do all the ironing.” 

“I already do all the ironing,” Cas says, as his cell still rings, waiting for Claire to pick up. 

“Exactly, buddy,” Dean says, “You’re quids in already,” 

“Hey Dad,” 

“We’re all here,” Dean says, “The full Winchester-Novak set. How’s tricks?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Claire says, “Just on my way to a lecture,” 

“Em said you had news,” 

“Right,” Claire says, then Dean can hear the smile break out in her voice, “So, I wanted to double check with my psych prof then I was gonna call you both later, but… you remember that paper I wrote on the ethics of heteronormativity?” 

“Yes,” Cas says, “It was a very interesting read,” 

“Turns out my professor thought so too! He’s publishing a series of sexual ethics,” 

“Sexethics,” Dean supplies, grinning at both of them in turn until Cas meets his eye and smiles at him. 

“And he’s going to publish mine!” 

“Holy shit, Claire, that’s awesome,” Dean says, “You’re gonna be a published sexethicist. Say that ten times faster,” 

“Claire, that is incredible,” Cas says, pride rolling off him in droves, “One of your _first year assignments_ is going to be published,” 

“I got a few tweaks to do,” She says, “But, yeah! Should be in the November issue.” 

“Can we get copies?” 

“It’s an e-addition,” Claire says, “But you can still print it off and stick in on the fridge if you want, Padre,” 

“You’re saying that like it isn’t exactly what I’m going to do. Damn, I’m proud of you. You’re a frigging academic. Cas, our youngest daughter’s a goddamn academic and our oldest change’s kids lives. Man, you guys are killing me with pride over here. You’re the best. Best kids ever,” 

“Affirmative,” Cas says, “Claire, we are so proud of you for this,” 

“Awh, shucks,” Claire beams from the other end of the phone, “Look, I gotta go to my lecture, but I’ll call you later, okay? I wanna tell you the whole story of how the Prof told me. It’s a good story.” 

“Learn well, Claire-bear,” Dean beams, that familiar, warm sensation sitting in his chest like it always does when Claire or Emma do just about anything. He’d be proud of them for dressing themselves every day, but it doesn’t harm matters that they’re both genuinely incredible. 

“Dean,” Cas says, voice deep and commanding, “You’re right,” 

“Am I?” 

“My life is absolutely not lacking in fulfilment,” Cas says, slipping into Dean’s lap, cupping the back of Cas’ neck and leaning forward to press a kiss to his jawline. Dean winds up grinning without really meaning to, because Cas is awesome and dynamic and glorious and definitely allowed to want it all, and because they built this fucking amazing life and marriage together. Dean pulls Cas closer and pulls him in for a proper, PG-13 kiss. 

“Yuk,” Emma comments, heading towards the kitchen cupboards to steal their food. 

***

_November, 2048._

The only reason Dean answers the door is because Cas is expecting some of his nerdy online masters books, which are heavy and expensive enough that someone probably has to sign for them, and Cas basically puppy dog eyed him. Apparently it's important for him to be able to put post it notes or something between the pages, which is ridiculous as it was when they were both at college the first time. 

It's not the delivery guy, though, it's frigging _Jake_ , alone, at which point Dean properly registers that he'd only bothered doing up one of his shirt buttons (and it's wonky at that) and that Cas is still very, very naked upstairs. 

"Hello, Mr Winchester," 

"Uh, hey Jake," Dean says, swallowing and glancing upstairs, "Um," 

"Is Castiel in too?" 

"You wanna speak to Cas?" 

"Both of you, actually," Jake says, then seems to take in Dean's shirt situation, then nervously moves from one foot to the other, "if it's not uh... bad time," 

"I'll go get Cas," Dean says, glancing back at the stairs. "You wanna take a seat wherever?" 

"Hello, Dean," Cas says, when Dean renters their bedroom. He's gloriously still naked and _damn Jake_ to hell for showing up. 

Dean throws Cas' shirt at him. 

"Jake's here," 

"With Emma?" 

"Alone," Dean says, making a face, "Who the hell does that? Just shows up at someone's house?" 

"What does he want?" 

"Well he sure as hell don't want your naked ass parading around," Dean says, "No idea. Left him in the kitchen." 

"Did you answer the door like that?" Cas asks, lips curling upwards. 

"Yep," Dean says, popping the p. 

"I suspect he's probably more embarrassed than you," Cas says, reaching for his shirt. 

"Maybe," Dean says, "Claire's gonna piss herself over this," 

"I'm unsure we'll be telling her of the visit just yet,” 

"You know why he's here? 

"I have my suspicions," Cas says, "Do up your shirt, Dean," 

"Jackass,” 

"Does this mean my book order hasn't arrived?" 

"Frigging nerd," 

Dean says, then heads downstairs ahead of Cas. 

"Hello Jake," Cas says, arriving in the kitchen a few seconds later, "Apologies for the delay. Has Dean offered you a drink? "

"Ah, no," Jake says, “but I'm fine without,” 

“You sure?” Dean asks, “I'm making coffee,” 

“White, one sugar,” 

“Me too, Dean,” “Wasn't offering you, one,” Dean says, smiling slightly, getting another mug out anyway. 

“Emma said you recently celebrated your anniversary?” Jake asks, nodding to the bottle of open, knock off price bubbly that they'd been drinking. 

“Oh that was a couple of weeks back, we were just....” 

“Celebrating Dean being cancer free for six months,” Cas says, which yeah, is probably a better name for than the 'my dick still works celebration' which had been the actual justification for the bubbly. Still. 

“Dean said you wanted to talk.” 

“Yes,” Jake says, “Yes. I hope you're aware I love Emma very much,” 

“Oh we've been made aware,” Dean says, mildly, which wins him a poke in the ribs from Cas which is almost subtle, but not quite. Subtle for Cas, anyway, but still pretty damn obvious. Dean probably _should_ be more polite, anyway. 

“Sorry,” Dean nearly chokes, “You were saying?” 

“Emma,” 

“Right,” Dean says, “Yeah. I'm a fan too. Emma’s the best. Top girl. My favourite oldest daughter, actually.” 

“I was intending to ask her to marry me,” 

Dean blinks at him. 

"Huh,” is what Dean says, suddenly skidding over to 

which of them is gonna do the father of the bride speech and _why_ did they never think about it before, then the actual shock hits him. Yeah, he's aware that Emma is not the toddler he first met and fell instantly in love with. She's not the kid who he used to carry round on his hip that he spent months and months teaching her how reads, word by word. She's got a job and her own place. She's got her own life. But she's still such a _kid_ and it's... she can't get _married_. In his head he's screaming she’s twenty three, but Cas' iron grip on his knee is enough to keep him shut up. Damnit. “Uh, shouldn’t you be speaking to her about this? You know you don’t need our permission, right? Cause it’s not really up to us,”

“I wanted to ask her on Christmas Day,” Jake says, “As you’re hosting me, I didn’t want to overstep,” 

“A Christmas proposal,” Dean says. 

“Dean,” 

“I’m just saying. That’s in like… a month. Wow.” 

“Jake, Dean is correct,” Cas says, “You don’t have to ask our permission to either marry Emma or to propose in our house,” 

"Which of you proposed?" Jake asks. 

"Uh, me," Dean says. 

"Emma said it was significantly before you got married," 

"Yeah, 2017. Got hitched in 23." 

"How old were you?" 

"Uh, twenty five when we got engaged,' Dean says, which makes his internal screaming that they're too young sound a little dumb. Still, they were thirty one when they went through with it. That’s pretty old and responsible. They were a good few years past sure when they actually got married. 

“How did you propose?” 

“We never told anyone that story,” Cas frowns and maybe _Cas_ actually likes Jake and maybe he’s doing a better job of hiding how terrifying the concept of Emma getting married is, but he’s tense as hell. And, yeah, neither of them _have_ told anyone that story. They found out John Winchester died the same week and suddenly the whole engagement thing got lost. No one asked afterwards. 

“Wasn’t anything big. So Cas used to really hate Wednesdays. There was the week after this massive project, and we were gonna try go out do something nice that weekend only he still had crap to do, and I was swamped too, so we bailed. Our place was a mess. Both of us were overdue to call our folks. Nothing was getting done and amongst all of that I kept thinking that I really, really wanted this forever. Even though it basically sucked. I just... I'd known for a while and I figured we deserved something good. So, I booked off Wednesday afternoon from work and cleaned the whole apartment. Hung up the pictures we finally got from Cas' family of our graduation and this dumb selfie Cas insisted we took on holiday. Sorted through the post. All of the stuff we'd been neglecting for weeks. So then Cas gets home to this tidy house, and he looked exhausted, so I offered to cook, which I pretty much always did anyway, but properly rather than cheat cooking. We ate. Opened up a bottle of Cas' favourite white wine even though I hated the stuff at that point. Reckon Cas thought I was just trying to get some, but I had my Mom's wedding ring in a box in my pocket. Anyway, it was kind of heading that way. Had the TV on but we were making out and then Cas notices the ring box in my pocket and makes some joke. So I just smile and he gets upset enough about being out the loop that he digs the box out my pocket then he opens it up. I dunno, then I just asked.” 

It wasn't like _that_ , exactly, because Cas didn't _get it_. Dean used to wear his Mom's wedding ring sometimes, anyway. So Cas had this frown like he had no idea what Dean was on, then he shook his head slightly and reached forward to kiss him again. They'd been on the cusp of fooling around for a while. Cas was actually _relaxed_ for the first time in forever. So, with Cas' hand flat against his torso (back when Dean had _abs_ ), curled up on the first sofa they bought together, with Dean's lips millimetres away from Cas' ear lobe, he'd skipped the actual proposal bit and said 'if you wanna wear it we might need to get it resized,' which made Cas freeze. Dean had got one of those piercing looks and suddenly felt a little like he'd fucked it all up, but then Cas lifted his other hand to cup Dean's face and hold him there, so Dean had no choice but to look straight at him. 

"Is this...?" 

"I'd get down on one knee, but usually when I'm on my knees in front of you I got other things on my mind," 

Cas frowned. 

"This is... ahead of schedule," 

"Yeah, well, don't see what's gonna change with another couple of years. I'm in love with you. You're my future. There's only two sure things I know, Cas; that I wanna commit to us working out and that Bert and Ernie are gay," 

"Are you referencing puppets?" Cas asked, smile beginning to creep up on him. They were still close and young and so fucking dumb about everything, but he'd leant close to Cas' ear, Cas a reachable and there and pliant and warn and inexcusably in love with him. Then he'd asked, more whispered really, voice low: _Castiel, d'you wanna get married at some point? Soon?_

Cas exhaled a yes like it was a simple question, then Dean's resolve caved, and he kissed him again. Cas wrapped his arms alright his neck and kissed fiercely back, trying to flip them over, but instead having them tumble off the sofa. Dean landed first, slightly winded, with Cas straddled above him. "Fucking ouch," Dean said, as Cas' finger closed over the ring box, grip tight. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Dude, I didn't clean the apartment for nothing," 

"I mean about the ring," Cas said, "This was your mother's," 

"And you’re my fiancé," 

"May I purchase you a ring?" 

"Yeah," Dean had said and that had been that. They were suddenly a hundred percent and totally engaged. It was easy. A hell of a lot easier than weddings and marriage. It was also a lot less twee than a goddamn Christmas proposal in either of their parent’s house. Fucking hell. 

“Do you think…?” Jake says, expression tipping over to anxious in a way that makes dread start churning up in his gut, “Do you think she’ll say yes?” 

“Well, if not it’s gonna be pretty awkward Christmas,” Dean says, standing up to get himself a beer, because apparently he just signed up to giving a pre-marital advice which, yeah, not where he saw his evening going. 

*

_December, 2048._

“If I see her twirl that stupid ring round her finger one more frigging time –”

“ – Claire,” Cas warns, “Be nice,” 

“Nope,” Claire says, “Christmas is over. I’m aiming for the naughty list till November, earliest.” 

“She’s your sister and she just got engaged. She’s allowed to be excited,” 

“Morning,” Dean says, coming downstairs and heading for the coffee machine, “The happy couple surfaced yet?” 

“Stop, both of you,” Cas says, an edge of irritation slipping into his voice, “You _will_ be happy for Emma. She needs you to be.” 

“Gotcha,” Dean says, leaning forward to kiss his forehead, “You okay, Cas?” 

“Yes,” 

“Convincing, Darling,” 

“Hey,” Emma says, suddenly appearing at the doorway, “Jake’s heading off,” 

“Bye bye, Jake,” Claire says, waving from her coffee, “See you soon, bro,” 

“Claire,” Cas says again. He looks a little bit like he’s hungover, which would explain why he’s so tetchy and why he was so damn touchy feeling when he crawled into bed an hour later than Dean. Apparently he stayed up late playing poker with Ellen and Claire. 

“Later, Jake,” Dean says, as Claire catches his eye and raises her eyebrows. The front door opens. Emma and Jake are having some hushed conversation that Dean doesn’t really want to hear, then it shuts again. It feels a hell of a lot like they all collectively exhales, because the idea of accepting another person into their little family unit is a little terrifying. Feels like all they’ve done for the longest time is lose family members, not gain them. 

“Hey,” Emma says, coming back into the room slightly breathless, spinning the ring round and round her finger (and yeah, Claire’s right, it’s kind of annoying, but Emma looked happy enough yesterday that Dean couldn’t think a bad word about it), gaze flicking between the three of them. 

“What’s up, Em?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyes, “You okay?” 

“Yes,” Emma says, “No. I don’t know.” 

“Enlightening,” 

“I’m getting married,” Emma says, “To Jake.” 

“Uhuh,” 

“You know… last year,” Emma says, “When you told Dad he made you unhappy. Did you mean that?” 

“No,” Dean says, glancing at Cas, then at Claire who definitely missed that particular argument. God, he was an asshole to Cas for so much of the previous year, it makes him feel kind of sick to think about. Cas is so damn precious and they nearly wound up sinking themselves _again_ just because of crappy mix of complacency, protecting the kids and stopping communicating. “I meant that I was unhappy. I didn’t mean it was cause of Cas,” 

“You’re happy together,” Emma says, in a way that Dean has no idea whether it’s a statement or a question. 

“Yeah,” Dean says, “We are. Right, Cas?” 

“Absolutely,” Cas agrees, “Dean makes me very happy,” 

“How d’you do it?” 

“Marriage?” Dean asks, forehead screwing up slightly, because if that’s when Emma’s asking it’s a helluva question. He wants to say that it’s not really a complicated answer, because most of the time it’s not. It’s just… commitment, time, communication. It’s love too, but if was _just_ love there’d have broken their relationship in year one. It’s _more_ than love. It’s listening and accepting and respecting and, just, working out each other’s weaknesses and then forgiving them before they fall into them. It’s Cas pushing himself to open up and be emotional. It’s Dean not letting himself get away with Cas thinking he was just being a dick by accident. It’s the stupid date nights they go on even when they’d rather not be speaking to each other. Its half-resolving arguments rather than letting them fester. “Uh, not expecting it to be the same when you’re twenty as it is when you’re fifty,” Dean says, “Our relationships changed. We’ve changed. You guys have certainly changed. It don’t mean your marriage has tanked or it’s irreparable, just that you gotta readjust.” 

“Absolute commitment,” Cas says. The fact that that’s Cas’ first words on the matter kind of makes him thank back to his temporary separation comment and just why that would have had such a shitty effect on the guy. Dean drops a hand to Cas’ knee. “If your father can forgive me for cheating on him when we were twenty three, I can forgive him for failing to do the dishes,” 

“Talking about everything. All the time. Even when you’d rather pull your teeth out,” 

“Avoiding complacency,” 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “That. There aint nothing special about your marriage. You’re not more in love than everyone else. The second you start believing nothing’s gonna sink you, you stop trying. You gotta be all in all the time, or you wind up like us last year, both acting like shitheads just to get the other’s attention about how crap we were feeling.” 

“Amen to you acting like shitheads,” Claire says, messing up her hair with her fingers, “That’s pretty much the story of your lives, right?” 

“Pretty much,” Dean says, reaching out to thread his fingers through Castiel’s, grinning at him when Cas folds their fingers together and smiles that familiar, decades-old eye crinkling smile. It’s even better now than it was when they were eighteen, because Dean knows full well that Cas is smiling through all the crappy stuff that they’ve dealt with the past few years, even though Emma bought up one of the worst parts of their marriage, even though they’ve all really missed Bobby this Christmas and even though they both know life is going to keep throwing punches. 

Cas smiles. 

Dean squeezes his hand, tight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay and a far from perfect last chapter. Unfortunately I got a little caught up in my up and coming potential unemployment (and possibly homelessness - although that's a bit dramatic). Hence I'm also behind answering comments - but it will get done!
> 
> And EL FINITO for these guys. I really don't think I have anywhere to take them this time. Thanks for sticking with me through such a mammoth series.


End file.
